


This Is Not a Love Story

by Sir Elliot (SirElliot)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Curses, No Sex, Not Romance, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2019-10-31 01:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirElliot/pseuds/Sir%20Elliot
Summary: …except for the part where it sort of, almost, kind of… is.Severus gets cursed and falls in love with Hermione Granger. That's not the worst part.Featuring: Bellatrix Lestrange on the warpath, Hermione facing some dark choices, and a Severus Snape who's incapable of saying no.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I'm finally posting a new fic! I've been working on a couple different things, but I've been bouncing this idea around for a while and decided to finally go for it.
> 
> I'm aiming for about 30k-40k in length, with weekly updates.

**Chapter 1**

It started, as so many things do, with Bellatrix Lestrange. In her fifth year, she’d been the first girl to wear her tie around her waist instead of her neck. The next day, three other girls had followed suit. The day after that: twelve.

The day after that, Professor McGonagall gave Evie Jones a detention for violating school dress code (actually the detention was for mouthing off about violating school dress code, but the rumour mill didn’t care) and that was the end of that.

In her seventh year, Bellatrix Lestrange had been the first person to take up the hobby of ‘bopping.’ This was when one of the seventh years (and it had to be a seventh year, no one else was allowed) would lean over the bannister of the stair case, and whack the backs of the heads of the first years who passed by. It became immensely popular extremely quickly, because it had two main advantages: it gave the seventh years some much-needed stress relief, and no one actually got _hurt_ , so the professors didn’t do anything about it. 

Until Evie Jones managed to fuck things up again, and accidentally pushed a first-year Hufflepuff down the stairs. 

The professors had come down quite hard on ‘bopping’ after that.

When Bellatrix Lestrange turned 23, she became the first Death Eater to Crucio someone into insanity. It was a random Ministry official, one whom she didn’t even remember the name of. 

She’d _loved_ it. After that, it became something of a signature move of hers. 

Until she’d been arrested, years later, by none other than Evie Jones. Who’d somehow managed to bumble her way through Auror training, and had been part of the force that responded to the attack on the Longbottoms. It had taken nine Aurors to bring Bellatrix down, but only one to arrest her. 

It goes without saying that Bellatrix Lestrange hates Evie Jones with a burning passion. But there’s someone that Bellatrix hates even more. 

And so our story starts with Bellatrix Lestrange. It starts with her being broken out of Azkaban in the summer of 1995. A cautious excursion, that puts stealth above all else. She is the only one broken out, and a carefully constructed golem has been left in her place. All the golem does is look like her and scream, but that’s all it _has_ to do. No one even notices she’s gone.

And so our story starts, with Bellatrix Lestrange spending most of the summer recuperating from her time in prison. She’s surprisingly sane for someone who’s spent so much time around Dementors. Or perhaps she’d been so _insane_ before she’d been imprisoned that no one could tell the difference. The fact of the matter was, Bellatrix Lestrange hadn’t been affected by the Dementors quite so much as everyone else. You didn’t turn out like her after a life of happiness, after all. She simply hadn’t had very many happy memories for the Dementors to feed on. 

And so our story starts… with Bellatrix Lestrange in Malfoy Manor, sitting outside the door to the study Lord Voldemort has claimed for his own. She stares at it, waiting patiently (waiting _desperately_ ) for the Dark Lord to appear. 

The door opens, and her heart skips a beat. It is not him. Instead of the person she loves, it is the one she despises above all else. 

Out steps Severus Snape, who, upon seeing her, raises an eyebrow at her. “Really, Bellatrix?” he asks, shutting the door behind him. “Are you really so pathetic that you would sit out here _mooning_ like a lovestruck puppy?” Scorn drips from his voice, and he seems immensely satisfied. Severus, who carried the Dark Lord’s favor despite numerous betrayals. Severus, who spoke to the Dark Lord in a hushed whisper about something that no one else was allowed to hear. Severus, who was the only person who could make the Dark Lord laugh. 

Bellatrix scrambles to her feet, wand out and sparks jumping off the tip. “How _dare_ you,” she hisses. “How dare you _mock_ me when I have served our Lord more faithfully, more truly, than you _ever_ did.” 

“Have you?” Snape asks, in mock surprise. “Is that why you’re sitting out here while I meet with him?” he says slowly, enunciating the words dripping out of his mouth. “Ever the faithful lapdog, are you?” 

“I’m going to _kill_ you!” she shrieks, and points her wand at his face.

Snape simply shakes his head. “I don’t think the Dark Lord would be very pleased with you if you did,” he murmurs, and to Bellatrix’s eternal frustration, he doesn’t look at all scared or intimidated. Instead, he looks… _bored_. “After all, _I_ am providing him valuable information about the Order. _I_ offer him a direct link into Dumbledore’s camp. _I_ brew him valuable potions. _You_ … what is it you do again?” He pauses in exaggerated thoughtfulness, before smirking at her and walking away from her down the hallway. 

Bellatrix can’t speak for her rage. She wants to _destroy_ him, she wants to rip his skin from his body and make him eat it. She wants to rip out his intestines and strangle him with them. She wants to curse him senseless, until his brains dribble out his ears. 

But she can’t. Because he’s right, and she knows the Dark Lord would be displeased with her. She can’t bring herself to do something that would bring the Dark Lord’s displeasure down upon her, no matter how satisfying it would feel. 

However… Bellatrix Lestrange was the first female Death Eater to make it into the Dark Lord’s inner circle for a reason. She was highly intelligent, magically powerful, and above all, viciously creative. 

“You know _nothing_ of love,” she says softly, as a silvery beam of light left her wand and hit Snape soundlessly in the back. A curse that she’d learned all the way back in her childhood. A Black family speciality. “But you will.” 

~*~

**August 5th, 1995 (just barely)**

Severus Snape knew he was fucked the moment the curse hit his back. He hadn’t turned around, of course, because he _knew_ that Bellatrix wouldn’t risk harming him, but he also knew that the Dark Lord had a very strict definition of what constituted harm. Namely, anything that would leave Severus unable to spy. And as a result, Bellatrix had rather a lot of leeway.

He didn’t turn around when he felt the curse, because he knew he needed to get somewhere safe as soon as possible and that meant _leaving_ Malfoy Manor. There was no point in wasting precious time arguing with her, he needed to find Albus so they could figure out what the hell she’d just done. 

Already, Severus could feel tendrils of magic creeping over his skin. It felt… disturbingly good, actually, which more than anything made Severus pick up his pace. 

He spent his walk out of the wards debating the quickest way to get to Albus. Apparating to Hogwarts meant a long walk across the grounds and through the castle in order to get to Albus’ office. 

However… Albus’ floo was open to the one at Grimmauld Place, in case of emergency. He could Apparate onto the front step, and then it was just a short walk to the kitchen. 

A loud crack later, Severus was letting himself into Grimmauld Place as quietly as possible (for it was the middle of the night, and the last thing he wanted was to wake the portrait and announce his presence to everyone). The magic tickling his skin seemed to itch the moment he stepped past the wards, as if they recognised the house. Bellatrix’s magic seemed pleased to be home. 

Severus was much less pleased to be in a filthy, decrepit, disgusting excuse for a house. The only halfway decent room was the kitchen, which— 

Was occupied. By an exhausted, downtrodden Hermione Granger, who looked up curiously as he entered. 

For a moment, they made eye contact, and Severus felt mildly annoyed about getting caught when he’d been hoping not to meet anyone at all— and then his stomach clenched, his skin tingled, and for the first time, he felt like he was truly _seeing_ Hermione Granger.

He stared at her with wide eyes. 

“Sir?” she asked, after a long moment where he didn’t move, seemingly frozen in place, staring at her with a peculiar expression she’d never seen him wear before. “Are you alright?” 

He blinked, as if suddenly waking up. “Fuck,” he breathed out, still staring at her. 

“Professor?” Hermione asked in alarm, having never once heard him swear before. 

“I’m—“ He rubbed a hand over his face, unable to take his eyes off her. “What are you doing up?” he asked, before he could help it, and immediately winced.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Hermione admitted, even more worried by the professor’s strange behaviour. “I had— well, it doesn’t matter,” she finished sheepishly. 

“Bad dreams?” Severus asked quietly. His gaze flickered over to the fireplace, but he couldn’t— he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

“Yes, actually,” Hermione said. “How did you know?” 

“In these dark times, we all have bad dreams,” Severus said.

Hermione looked up at him in wordless surprise, and Severus felt a smile threaten to overtake his lips.

“Shit,” he said instead, and he dove for the fireplace. 

Hermione gaped at him as it whisked him away in a rush of floo powder. He didn’t once meet her eye. 

~*~

**August 5th, 1995 (late morning)**

“And then he just disappeared!” Hermione finished her tale, exulting in the quiet gasps from her captive audience. 

“Just like that?” Harry said in amazement.

“Just like that,” Hermione confirmed. They were sitting on Harry’s bed, her, Harry, and Ron, and she was telling them about Professor Snape’s strange visit to the kitchen last night.

“He’s finally gone round the bend,” Ron said, sounding much too pleased by the idea.

“Or maybe he was injured!” Harry said in excitement.

“Harry!” Hermione scolded. “You shouldn’t be happy that a teacher, not to mention an _Order member_ , might be inured!” 

“But think about _why_ he was injured,” Harry insisted. “He must’ve been doing something for the Order, if he came here!” 

“Or maybe You-Know-Why cursed him,” Ron pointed out. “He’s a bit nutters with his followers, isn’t he?” 

Harry frowned in consideration. “Maybe,” he grudgingly admitted. He very much wanted this to be a sign that the Order was doing something to fight back against Voldemort. Even if Harry himself couldn’t be apart of it, just the knowledge that they were doing _something_ instead of sitting around on their arses would be a huge relief. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Hermione said, since she was pretty sure they were wrong regardless. “The important thing is that I think he’s finally warming up to me.”

It’d only taken a month and a half of working together. 

At the end of fourth year, Hermione’s parents had picked her up from the train station as usual. Unfortunately, they’d run into Lucius Malfoy while leaving, who’d given them some _very_ dirty looks. Hermione hadn’t wanted to tell her parents too much of what was going on, since she knew they would worry, but she wasn’t an idiot. If they were in danger, they needed to know. 

After weeks of discussion, which had one point had included _Albus Dumbledore himself_ visiting her house and talking to her parents, her parents had finally started taking the threat seriously. They’d agreed to go into hiding in one of the Order’s muggle safe houses. (Her parents hadn’t been able to come to Grimmauld Place because of the muggle-repelling wards.) 

In order to keep them hidden, however, Hermione hadn’t been able to go with them. The Order didn’t have the resources to get proper wards, which meant that it had been safer to get no wards at all, to hide them in muggle obscurity. Having a witch living with them would have lit up the house like a beacon.

Hermione was conflicted about this. While she did truly miss her parents, part of her was also… well, _relieved_ to be spending the summer in the Wizarding World. The older she got, the harder it was for her to go back to being a muggle every summer. Part of her still felt like if she left, if she didn’t keep an eye on magic all the time, it would disappear like she’d never even had it. 

Like she’d dreamed the whole thing.

So she’d been very pleased to be spending the summer in Grimmauld Place, where even if she still couldn’t cast magic herself, she was still living in a magical house, with other magic-users. 

This actually turned out to be less fun than she’d hoped. 

The adults were incredibly busy, and largely left her to her own devices. The first week, she’d made a thorough investigation of the Black Library. Much to her pleasure, in the process she’d also found copies of the fifth year texts. 

She spent the second week doing all her summer work. 

By the third week… She was ready to go crazy. It turned out spending three straight weeks in a dimly lit house without once ever going outside was _not_ conductive to one’s mental health. Hardly ever seeing anyone else didn’t help, either. The only other person who was actually staying at the house was Sirius Black, and he almost never came out of his room. Hermione didn’t know what he did in there, and she didn’t _want_ to know. 

Thankfully, at the end of that week there’d been an Order meeting. Hermione had come downstairs to the kitchen afterwards to get some water, and she’d found Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape arguing in the kitchen.

Professor McGonagall had asked her how her summer was going, and when Hermione mentioned that she was going insane with boredom, Professor McGonagall had turned to Professor Snape with a glint in her eye, and immediately suggested (in such a manner as to imply that it was not at all a suggestion) that Professor Snape let Hermione assist with the huge brewing load he’d just been complaining about. 

Professor Snape, despite looking like he wanted to set fire to the house, had agreed (after a brief glaring context with Professor McGonagall that he’d apparently lost), and thus had started one of the most interesting summers of Hermione’s life. 

Professor Snape was… well, he was a bloody brilliant potion’s master, excuse her language. He was impatient and tetchy, but for the most part seemed content to ignore her outside of giving her tasks and instructions. They’d quickly fallen into a, if not companionable, at least moderately comfortable silence. 

This was aided by Hermione’s inability to not be polite and follow instructions. Although she didn’t know it, she’d been one of the best student assistants that Snape had ever had, solely because of her ability to just shut up and brew, something which most teenagers… _lacked_. 

“Hermione?” Harry asked, startling her out of her narratively convenient stupor. 

“What? Oh, right, sorry. So breakfast then?” Hermione said, smiling as Harry and Ron’s face predictably lit up.  

~*~

The kitchen was mostly empty, except for Sirius. He was sitting at the table, mug of tea clenched firmly in hand, staring wide-eyed down at the table. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his pale face had taken on a sickly tinge to it. 

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, taking the seat across from him without thinking about it. Harry raised his eyebrows at her, and Hermione instantly felt guilty. How unfair was it, that Harry had to spend the summer with his awful relatives while Hermione spent it with the one parental figure Harry had? She wished she could take back the whole summer and give it to him instead.

“I’m fine,” Sirius said gruffly, not looking at her. 

“You don’t look fine,” Harry protested, sitting down next to the man. 

Ron seemed to think they had the situation well in hand, because he went to investigate the contents of the pans sitting out on the stove. He seemed to be pleased with what he found, for he immediately started loading a plate up. 

Sirius glanced up at Harry with a small smile. “I always look fine,” he said, his joking tone falling flat. “It’s been great having people in the house again,” he said, and this time he sounded more genuine. “No offence, Hermione.” 

“But?” Hermione prompted, and Sirius sighed. Harry looked over at her again, seemingly more confused than anything by her familiarity.

“The summer’s gone by so quickly. You’ve only just arrived, Harry, and it’s already August. Soon you’ll be back to school.” Sirius looked up at Harry and gave him an awkward smile before lowering his eyes again.

“Remus will be back soon, won’t he?” Harry asked worriedly. 

Sirius shrugged, not saying anything. 

Hermione stared at Sirius, her mind racing. Although they’d spent most of the summer doing their own thing, you didn’t live with someone for two months without picking up a little bit about them. And she recognised now something in Sirius that she couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed before. Sirius wasn’t just lonely and restless. He was _bored_ , genuinely and utterly without any sort of intellectual engagement. 

She would’ve thought that nothing could be more boring than Azkaban, but she had no idea what prison had been like for Sirius. What she could understand, however, was that Sirius needed a project.

And hadn’t she just been talking to other day to two mischievous idiotic inventors looking for guidance on expanding into products that could help the war effort?

“Hey Sirius,” Hermione said, and after a moment he finally looked up at her. “Do you think you have time to help out with a project?”

“What kind of project?” Sirius asked warily, but she could see a glint of interest in his eyes.

Harry and Ron’s questioning looks turned to smiles as Hermione explained what the twins were doing. 

For the first time all summer, Hermione saw a genuine smile on Sirius’ face. 

“I think I have a few ideas we could try,” he said.

~*~

**August 9th, 1995**

Severus was going crazy. He knew it, the house elves knew it, the little man who lived in his ceiling and kept talking to him knew it. Truthfully, he’d been expecting this to happen eventually. Really, he was just surprised it’d taken so long.

“—erus? Severus!” the little man called. 

He sounded strangely like Albus. 

Severus groaned, and tried to push himself up off the floor. Instead, he only managed to roll himself over. 

“What in the blazes is wrong with him?” a voice, sounding suspiciously like Minerva’s, asked. 

“Severus, can you speak?” the little man asked.

A groan was the only response. 

“Merlin, what did you _drink_?” the other voice asked in awe. 

“Minerva, go fetch Poppy, would you? She’ll know what to do.”

“Of course, Albus, right away.” Footsteps leading away, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing. 

Albus Dumbledore crouched down next to the prone figure of Severus Snape, his knees popping. “Alright, Severus. What _did_ you drink?”

“A tincture of wormwood,” Severus finally admitted, not looking up.

“Absinthe? Really? That’s a rather… interesting choice.” 

“I think I’m going to die,” Severus said, and Albus could hear the truth in his words.

“Let me get you a potion. You’ll feel better in a moment, I promise you.” 

“I’ll never feel anything ever again,” he moaned. 

Albus tried to suppress his smile, then realised that Severus couldn’t see it anyway. He grinned. “And how are you liking the ground?” 

“The ground is my new master,” came Severus’ muffled voice. “I shall never escape her cold, dead grasp.”

“Ah, the ground is a woman then?” Albus asked, chortling. He searched through Severus’ desk for a hangover potion. It wouldn’t cure his hangover, but the combination hydration draught and headache potion would hopefully stop him from wanting to kill himself. 

“The ground is a cruel mistress,” Severus affirmed. 

“Ahah! Never fear, my boy, you’ll soon be back on your feet.”

“I’d honestly rather die.” 

Albus crouched down next to Severus’ body, vial in hand. “Roll over so I can give this to you,” he instructed, and watched in amusement as Severus wobbled around weakly. “Come on, give it a try.” 

This time, Severus managed to push himself back onto his back, and he stared up at the ceiling with lifeless dead eyes. “Kill me,” he croaked, the depths of despair written on his face. “I beg of you, kill me, and end my suffering.”

“I take it the absinthe didn’t agree with you then,” Albus said, and poured the vial down Severus’ throat before he could respond. 

Severus swallowed instinctually, undoubtedly recognising the taste of something that would make him feel better. He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly as the potion began to take effect.

“Better?” Albus asked, unable to keep his grin off his face as Severus opened his eyes once more.

“Marginally,” Severus said stiffly, but he managed to push himself to a sitting position with nothing more than a wince.

“Care to tell me why you—“

“Severus!” Poppy cried, bursting through the door. “Minerva said you were dying!” 

“I was hardly _dying_ ,” Severus protested. Then he paused. “I merely wished for death.” Standing in the doorway while Poppy rushed over, Minerva rolled her eyes.

“What happened to you?” Poppy said, crouching down next to him and casting diagnostic spells. 

“Ah, sadly, Severus fell to the lure of the most vile of magics: that of the green fairy,” Albus said, enjoying himself far more than was reasonable. Severus seemed to agree, judging by the death glare he sent him.

“The gree— Absinthe?! _Really_ , Severus? After what happened last time?” Poppy clucked disapprovingly, lowering her wand again. “Well you seem to be functioning well enough now, but you’ll want another potion in an hour. Do you have another?” 

“I have enough to last me a lifetime of poor decisions,” Severus muttered, not meeting Minerva’s eye, who was shaking with silent laughter. 

“Honestly, Severus, what happened to you? This is most unlike you!” Poppy’s voice held genuine worry. She’d always been kind to him, even when he’d been a student here himself. Albus thought Severus must genuinely like her quite a bit, in order to let her get away with mothering him as much as she did.

“Lots of things are unlike me,” Severus muttered, proving that he did, in fact, still _need_ mothering. “And yet, here we are.”

“I think perhaps Severus isn’t quite ready to talk about it,” Albus said diplomatically. 

“Albus, do you _know_?” Minerva asked, her curiosity making her indelicate. Not that Gryffindors were delicate at the best of times, alas. A failing Albus found himself intimately familiar with. 

“I have my suspicions, and I have no doubt that in time Severus will tell you as well. However, currently he is… not in the best state to talk about it,” Albus said, casting a pointed eye to where Severus sat miserably on the floor.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Poppy said pointedly, getting to her feet. “Drink lots of water, Severus. I’m going to be keeping a close eye on you, do you hear me?” 

“Yes, Poppy,” Severus responded, sounding very put-upon. 

Poppy rolled her eyes, but followed Minerva out the door, closing it gently behind her.

They sat in silence for a moment; Albus waiting patiently. He’d played this game before. He was something of an expert at it, in fact. 

Eventually, he won.

“It’s the girl,” Severus said suddenly, breaking the silence. He drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He looked… young. “Or no, it’s not her. It’s _me_. I’m the problem.”

“You’re not a problem,” Albus said, knowing his words would be ignored but needing to say it anyway.

“These feelings, Albus— they’re a poison, dripping through my mind and corrupting every bit of who I once was. Who am I, in the face of such passion? Who am I, but a carrier for the love I’d never earned?” And wasn’t it _so_ like the young to be overly preoccupied by their own melodrama. Even Severus wasn’t immune to the lure of dramatic over-exaggeration. 

“You’re Severus Snape. You’ve been cursed, yes, but you’re still you. It doesn’t matter who you love.” 

“It’s not who, it’s _how_. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. I dream of her voice, of her soft smiles and fierce intelligence, her— She’s fifteen,” he reminded himself, voice hollow. “And I’m a monster.” 

Albus crouched down next to him again, ignoring the creaking of his joints. “Dear boy, you’re _hardly_ a monster,” he said sadly. “Do you know the difference between a monster and a man?” 

“What?” Severus asked, voice muffled.

“Both have capacity for great evil. Both can hurt those around them. But a monster does not care. A monster does not feel the pain of others, does not feel the consequences of his actions. A monster hurts people and feels no remorse. You, my boy, are no monster.” 

Severus looked up from his knees. “I recognise that speech,” he said, eyes narrowing. 

Albus sighed. “Yes. I gave it to you many years ago. It’s one of my favourites, actually,” he admitted. He stood up, and reached out a hand. “Hopefully it works better now than it did last time.”

Severus reluctantly let Albus pull him to his feet. “It didn’t work at _all_ last time,” he said crossly. 

“Severus, this was exactly what Bellatrix intended when she cursed you. You think you’re the first professor to fantasise about his students? You _do_ remember Slughorn, do you not?” 

Severus winced. “Unfortunately.”

“At least you have the benefit of being unwilling. And, of course, I trust _you_ won’t _act_ on these… desires.” 

“Of course not!” 

“Well then. Frankly, I don’t see the problem. You’ve been a spy for years. What’s one more lie?”

“It’s _hardly_ that simple!” Severus complained, throwing his hands up in the air. “This job you’ve asked me to do requires such a delicate balance, merely the wrong _look_ at the wrong time would send the whole scheme spinning into disarray!”

“Do you not feel you are up to the task?” Albus asked, because he was a conniving old man and he’d known Severus far long enough to have learned what buttons to press. 

Severus stared at him, stunned. “Albus,” he said carefully, not meeting the elder’s eyes. “What would you do, for love?” 

Albus’ confidence of a moment ago fled. He’d been relying on Severus for so much, for so long, that he’d forgotten that the man was simply… human. Like the rest of them. “Research the curse. As well you can, in the time you have. I will talk to Bill Weasley about possible techniques for removing it. However… Would it be possible to simply tell Tom what happened? Bellatrix Lestrange is ultimately at fault for this, not you. Perhaps this incident might even work in your favour, and further lessen her position within the Inner Circle.” 

“I’m not sure,” Severus admitted. “He’s always played us against each other, as long as it doesn’t interfere in his plans.” Severus assumed Bellatrix’s end goal was to humiliate him. That was often her intention. But who had she intended him to fall in love with? Albus, perhaps? 

“It’s something to think about,” Albus said with a sigh, and Severus wondered for a mad moment if he’d read his mind. “Regardless, if you wish to keep this a secret, we will have to come up with some explanation as to why you no longer hate Miss Granger.”

Severus flinched at the name. “She was working as my assistant over the summer. Is it no surprise that we could become more cordial?” He carefully controlled his face so as to not reveal his true intentions. 

“We could hardly spread the rumour that you two spent the summer together. But it is not unheard of for professors to take assistants during the semester.”

Severus did not reveal his eagerness at the idea. “As a favour to Minerva, of course.”

“Of course.” Albus gave him a long, evaluating look. “Neither of you are popular among the student body,” he said frankly. “There will always be rumours.”

“As long as there aren’t enough rumours for Bellatrix to learn anything concrete. I imagine idle school gossip will be preferable to the truth.” 

“Many things are,” Albus agreed. 

~*~

**August 11th, 1995**

It took Severus a few days to work up the courage to go to Grimmauld Place. And yet, somehow, he felt it took all his willpower to stop himself from running there at the first hint of an actual excuse.

He needed to see the library. The curse Bellatrix used was utterly unfamiliar to him— he’d never even _heard_ of such a thing. Since the Headmaster hadn’t either, that suggested that Bellatrix was using extremely dark magic, which she’d had to have learned _somewhere_. Since it seemed unlikely that the Dark Lord had taught her that particular spell (given his frequently proclaimed disdain for anything relating to the weak human emotion that was _love_ ), that meant that Grimmauld Place was the only other logical place to start. 

Severus wasn’t expecting much, frankly (as if his luck were ever that good), but perhaps he’d be able to find a hint of the right direction to look in. For the time being, he didn’t know _anything_ about the curse. 

It was difficult to detect curses at the best of times, and when they were cast on a magical person, it became almost impossible unless you already knew what you were looking for. The person’s own magic would almost always obscure the magic of the curse, essentially hiding it from view. So far, Albus had only managed to see that the strength was staying constant in time, which meant it wasn’t going to fade on its own, something Severus had already suspected. 

He decided his best bet was to go at night, when no one would be awake. He could slip in, do his research, and slip out without anyone being the wiser. (Not that he didn’t have express permission from Albus to be there, but the last thing he wanted was to have to explain himself. Especially not to _Black_ , of all people.) 

Of course, he’d forgotten that his luck was deplorable.

The kitchen light was on as he passed by on the way to the library. He hesitated for a moment, wondering desperately if it was _her_ … She’d been up late last time he’d been here, as well. 

He desperately wanted to see her again, but what could he possibly say? It took every ounce of his willpower to keep moving (although his efforts were aided by the intense self-loathing he felt), but he managed to force himself past the door and into the calm silence of the library. 

Severus had always felt at home in libraries. As a child, he’d often spent time in the small local library to avoid being at home. The librarians had always been kind to him, undoubtedly feeling pity for the pathetic creature he’d once been. (And perhaps still was.)

At Hogwarts, the library had been something of a refuge as well. The one place in the school where he could relax, under the merciless watch of the librarian of the time. It had made him feel less lonely, to be surrounded by people, even if most of them didn’t like him very much. Lily had loved the library as well, and was always content (when they were younger, at least), to spend the weekends studying together in industrious silence. And of course, Black and his gang of fools had been less likely to torment him in the library, wary of being banned. 

Severus inspected the shelves hopelessly. While the library was decently well-stocked, for a private library, it hardly compared to the size of the Hogwarts library. Certainly he wouldn’t be able to conduct his entire search tonight, but even if he had to search the entire room he’d be able to finish before the start of the semester. 

Many of the books were old enough that they didn’t have indexes or even a table of contents, but Severus knew a spell that would let him search a written text for words of his choosing, even when the text was grossly misspelled. 

He’d just found what looked like a promising book on unconventional curses, when the door to the library swung open. 

Miss Granger blinked in surprise upon seeing him. “Sorry, professor,” she said, pulling her robe tighter around her. “I didn’t realise you were the one in here.” 

“Who did you think it was?” Severus asked curiously. A week ago he would’ve merely stared at her until she left. Now he was _engaging her in conversation_. Merlin be damned, this semester was going to be utterly deplorable. 

“I thought maybe Harry or Sirius,” she admitted freely. 

Severus realised, with a sudden start, that Miss Granger was _living_ with Sirius Black and Harry Potter, two of the people he despised more than anything. A brief, mad thought of rescuing her dashed through his mind before he came to his senses. If anything, that would simply inspire them to rescue her from _him_. 

“Do they often inhabit the library late at night?” Severus asked, only one step away from being officially snarky. “Or indeed, at all?” There it was, the last step.

Miss Granger shrugged. “Sirius does, actually. He keeps odd hours, too.”

That… was actually useful information. Severus assumed he’d be unmolested by the owner of the house, but if Black made a habit of visiting the library after hours they’d eventually run into each other. He’d better have the letter from Albus prepared then. Perhaps he’d come back in the day next time, as well, so that Black would know to expect him. Or would that only leave him vulnerable to any traps? Of course, after the first time he met Black in the library, he’d be vulnerable regardless, and that first meeting had the possibility of going very sour… 

“I’ll just go to bed then,” Miss Granger said, giving up on waiting for him to respond. 

“Wait,” Severus said automatically, then cursed himself when she actually turned back towards him. What was he supposed to say? “Have you finished brewing the Invigoration Draught?” Of course she had. It’d been weeks. 

“Yes, professor,” she said, and if she was insulted, she hid it well under a mask of resigned tolerance. 

“My brewing time will be limited for the remainder of the summer. Brew the Enchantment Enhancer by yourself, if you feel up to the task.” Merlin, was he acting different? He found he couldn’t quite tell. Was it kindness, giving her a choice, or cruelty, implying that she might not be up to the task? Desperately, Severus tried to keep his thoughts from swirling out of control. He hadn’t been this anxious since he’d been a teenager. 

Of course, he hadn’t been in love since he’d been a teenager, either. This was _most_ inconvenient. 

“Alright, professor,” Miss Granger said. She seemed pleased enough with the instruction. Severus barely avoided breathing a sigh of relief. 

“One last thing… The Deputy Headmistress has _requested_ that I continue to utilise your assistance into the school year,” Severus said, not bothering to mask his distaste at the plan. He _did_ mask his reluctant excitement, however. “Provided you are amenable?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Of course, professor!” Miss Granger said in amazement. “I have no problem with that.”

Severus sighed, pleased by her reaction despite himself. “Very well then. You may go.” 

She nodded at him as she left the library, a small smile on her face. She closed the door softly behind her. 

Severus stared at the book in his hand, suddenly a lot less interested in curses than he had been a moment ago.

~*~

**September 1st, 1995**

The last few weeks of summer passed with hardly any relevance to the plot at all. The trio, aided by Sirius Black, had their fair share of adventures cleaning Grimmauld Place, but undoubtedly the story of the Infestation of the Magical Killer Wasps would be of no interest to you, dear reader. Nor would the Mystery of the Windy Hallway nor the Infestation of the Magical Killer Wasps II: Revenge of the Wasp Queen.

Suffice to say, the rest of the summer passed with absolutely nothing of interest occurring at all.

Except, of course, for Sirius’ burgeoning correspondence with the Weasley twins, and thus his renewed lease on life as he delved into his new project with a mad purpose. The enchanted mirror he’d originally intended to give to Harry had been given to the twins instead, to aid their long discussions on spellcrafting theory. Sirius spent more time studying than he had even before his NEWTs. 

“You know, Hermione,” Harry said, as they sat in an otherwise empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, waiting for the train to depart. “I think this is the first summer I’ve had since starting Hogwarts where nothing crazy’s happened to me. Even you had a more eventful summer than I did, what with your parents and working for Snape and everything!” 

“Only you would say needing to be rescued from your relative’s house and spending the rest of the summer in a haunted secret headquarters with your escaped convict godfather isn’t crazy,” Hermione huffed, but there was a slight smile on her lips nonetheless.

“And don’t forget about Kreacher!” Ron added, with a shudder. “That elf gives me the creeps. He’s definitely crazy enough to count.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Harry said, grinning in reluctant amusement. “I guess you guys are right.” 

What Harry didn’t know, however, was that he was no longer the protagonist. No, he’d been downgraded to nothing more than a side character— something he wouldn’t realise until far, far too late.

Of course, we don’t really care when Harry realised that his protagonist status had ben revoked. 

No, the important question is… when did Hermione realise? 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a while, Hermione is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I finished this chapter early so I decided to go ahead and post it instead of waiting. Some people have asked where this fic is going, and hopefully that will become more apparent in the next few chapters. But overall this fic is going to get pretty dark.

**September 4th, 1995**

Between the Ministry flunky posing as their new Defence professor, and having potions first thing Monday morning, the new semester was off to an auspicious start. 

“Come on, we’re going to be late,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes at Harry and Ron dragging their feet.

“‘Course,” Harry muttered, and started off quickly for the dungeon. “Last thing I want is Snape giving me detention in the first class of the semester.”

“He would, wouldn’t he,” Ron replied darkly. “That greasy—“

“Ron!” Hermione said sharply. “Hold on, don’t you think that’s a little unfair?” 

Ron looked at her, baffled. “Come off it, Hermione, you know he would.” 

“Maybe if he had a good reason,” Hermione said. “But he’s not going to assign a detention randomly!” 

“He has before,” Harry said skeptically, as they approached the door to the potions classroom.

“Well— maybe,” Hermione reluctantly admitted. 

Their spirits effectively quashed, the three of them crept into the classroom, taking their customary seats. They were some of the last ones to arrive, but they weren’t late, since their professor was still absent.

A moment later the professor in question strode through the door, which slammed magically behind him.

“Wands away, books out, and turn to page twenty-four,” he said, as he walked past the rows of desks. Upon reaching the front, he whirled around and surveyed the class, who were sitting there motionlessly. He raised an eyebrow at them, and immediately there was a flurry of movement as everyone raced to get their books out.

Hermione’s was already on her desk. _Honestly_ , she thought scornfully, _we’ve only been in this class four years. Not like they haven’t had time to learn the drill._ Opening the book, she found that page twenty-four outlined the effects of moonfly when used in conjunction with various depressants, something she’d brushed up on just the night before. Instead of reading the page for the ninth time, her gaze instead drifted up to Professor Snape.

He was watching her. As soon as she made eye contact, he looked away, but… He’d definitely been watching her.

Hermione wondered what their classroom interactions would be like, now that they’d spent a good part of the summer working together. Surely he would be a little kinder to her? 

Instead, he ignored her almost completely. Even though she raised her hand for every question, he never called on her. Even when no one else moved, he would pick someone at random, and then give the answer himself if that person failed to get it. 

Hermione wasn’t especially put out. Truthfully, most of the professors had stopped calling on her, except when it was clear no one else at all knew the answer. She’d been upset at first when she realised she wasn’t being called on as much, until Ron laughed at her and asked her what the point was, since everyone knew she knew the answer. 

Hogwarts was amazing, that was a fact, and Hermione wouldn’t give up learning magic for _anything_. But she also knew, with a sort of clinical detachment, that she wasn’t being intellectually challenged. That was why she worked on so many side projects, supplementary research to fill in the gaps of her education. 

But now, that would change. She was going to be assisting Professor Snape with… well, Hermione wasn’t entirely clear on that. More stuff for the Order, probably. That didn’t matter. The important thing was that she would finally get a chance to stretch her intellectual wings. 

“Miss Granger…” Professor Snape called, as the students started collecting their things. Class was over. “Stay for a moment,” he sneered. 

Parvati gave her a sympathetic look as she and Lavender walked out the door.

Harry and Ron stared uncertainly at her. 

“It’s okay,” she sighed. “I’ll meet you at Charms.” They didn’t wait before running off. 

She made her way nervously to the front of the classroom, and winced as the last student to exit (Pansy Parkinson) closed the door as she left, tossing a smirk at Hermione over her shoulder.

“Yes, professor?” Hermione asked politely, clasping her hands together in front of her as she stood nervously before the professor’s desk.

Professor Snape sat behind it, posture stiff. Upon seeing the door close, he sighed, and slouched down slightly in his chair. He drummed his fingers idly on the desk. “What evenings are you available to assist me?” He finally asked, looking up at her reluctantly. 

“Well, any of them, I suppose,” Hermione replied. “Except for prefect meetings.” 

Professor Snape nodded. “And how many evenings will you be able to devote?” 

Hermione blinked. She hadn’t thought about it, really. It was her O.W.L. year, so obviously she’d be extra busy with studies, but… this was important. And really, when had she ever turned down extra work? “How many evenings do you want me?” she asked.

He winced. He opened his mouth to say something and hesitated, before finally continuing. “Let us plan for two or three evenings a week, for an hour or two depending on our respective schedules, and then a longer session on the weekends, time permitting. Is that amenable to you?”

Hermione nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course! Will we be doing the same sort of thing as—“ she cut herself off, wary of anyone listening in even when they were supposedly in an empty classroom. Living in an evil magical house all summer tended to make one paranoid. 

Professor Snape understood what she meant. “Yes,” he responded curtly. 

“Okay! Er— When are we meeting next then? And are we just meeting in here?” 

“In my office.” He stared at her for a moment, expression inscrutable. “Tonight,” he stated, but there was a hint of a question to his voice that Hermione wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined. 

“After dinner?” She asked, trying to read anything in his blank face, and failing utterly. 

“Very well.” He didn’t even dismiss her, just looked down at the papers on his desk and started grading. 

“Er— thanks, professor,” Hermione said, and let herself out. She was practically skipping as she walked away. Fifth year was off to an _excellent_ start. 

~*~

**September 8th, 1995**

A week into the semester, Draco Malfoy barged into Severus’ office. 

Really, Severus was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.

“ _Granger_?” Draco cried, slamming the door behind him and throwing himself into the chair in front of Severus’ desk.

Severus stared at him, eyebrow slightly raised. After a long moment, Draco straightened himself sheepishly, fixing his posture into something more polite.

“Sorry,” he muttered, not meeting Severus in the eye.

“Very well,” Severus said. He already knew exactly what this was about, but it wouldn’t do to let Draco know that. The son of two of his closest friends (which really said more about who he considered “friends” than it did about how close he was with the Malfoys), and one of the Death Eaters’ spies in the castle, to boot. Not that he was a very effective spy, really, but he occasionally heard things. Like, presumably, that Severus had taken on Hermione Granger as an assistant. “Now that you’ve composed yourself into something approaching respectable, would you care to elaborate about whatever it is that’s got you so upset? Or is it merely the fact that she exists?” 

“You—“ Any trace of composure Draco had managed to find was washed away. “You’ve taken her on as your assistant!” he said. 

Severus paused for a moment, staring blankly at the boy. “That is correct,” he said slowly, as if trying to comprehend how that had any bearing on the current situation. 

Draco, of course, knew exactly what his professor was doing, and it only irritated him more. “Why?” he whined. “If you needed an assistant, why not anyone else?” 

Severus pursed his lips. “Would you have preferred I select Potter, instead?” he asked, with barely concealed distaste. 

Draco gaped at him. “No, of course not, but— but why?” 

“I had no choice,” Severus responded stiffly. This had the benefit of actually being true, but he was hardly about to tell Draco the real reason. The lies he and Albus had cooked up would suffice.

“What?” Draco said, stunned by this response. “What do you mean?”

“Professor McGonagall insisted. I believe she no longer… trusts me, after the events of last June.”

“That’s not fair!” Draco exploded. “She can’t just make you—“

“As it happens, she can,” Severus interrupted calmly. “She has the full support of the Headmaster. He seems to think it’ll be good for me.” That last part was, unfortunately, also true. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Draco huffed, slumping down in his chair again. “That’s so unfair.”

Severus nodded. “Many things are.”

“But… but if you could choose anyone… it wouldn’t be Granger, right? Who would it be?” Draco pressed. 

Severus got the impression that Draco was feeling insecure about his potions skills. As he should be, since they were categorically mediocre. “I would choose no one,” he said, solely for the look on Draco’s face. He’d allowed seventh years to undertake independent research projects before, under his strict supervision, but he’d never taken on a student assistant. He’d thought about it, but between teaching and his head of house duties, he had more than enough student interaction. His brewing time was his time. And until this summer, his workload had never been so heavy that he’d been forced to have an assistant. 

Draco huffed. “But say you had to choose someone. Like, you were forced to choose someone. Who would it be?” 

Severus pretended to consider this. “Likely Flora Carrow,” he said. She was a sixth-year Slytherin prefect, currently. And unlike her twin sister, she was extremely dependable. 

“Fine, whatever,” Draco said, with a roll of his eyes. He seemed finally willing to give up on the game. “I guess I should’ve figured it would be something like that. As if you’d ever willingly pick Granger as your assistant.”

Severus struggled to stamp down the urge to defend her, and felt annoyed at himself for even feeling the urge. Draco was obviously jealous. Granger had the best potions grades in her year, and her brewing was meticulous. She lacked the creative spark of a true potions prodigy, but what she lacked in instinct she made up for in hard work and careful preparation. She would make an excellent assistant, and in fact already had been, over the last few months.

Not that Severus could say any of that. “Was that all?” he said instead, trying to appear aloof and uncaring, and not deeply annoyed at Draco’s presence. 

Draco sighed. “Should I be worried about Umbridge?” he asked, after a moment. “Father said she was awful.” 

Severus frowned, unsure of how much to say. Dolores Umbridge was notorious among Ministry workers for her cloying ambition and obviously fake attitude. Thankfully he hadn’t had the pleasure of interacting with her much. She never sat anywhere near him. 

“You had her class already, is that correct?” Severus asked, fishing for more information. Was she sympathetic to Slytherin, her old house? Or to Gryffindor, the ‘heroes of the light,’ as it were? Certainly she wasn’t sympathetic to Potter, but Severus had no idea where the rest of her loyalties lay. 

“Yeah, it’s the worst. Just reading from a textbook and zero actual Defence practice. As if we didn’t have OWLs this spring that we need to pass!” 

Lovely. “I’ll talk to the prefects about arranging tutoring,” Severus said with a grimace. 

“So is she evil or what?” Draco asked pointedly. 

“Excuse me?” Severus said, taken aback. 

“Let’s see, Lupin was a werewolf, Quirrell tried to steal something and got killed for it,” Draco was counting the professors off on his fingers as he spoke. “Moody last year cast an Unforgivable on us, and there’s no way you can tell me that was anything but torture. Potter was the only one who came close to throwing it off, and he’s a freak or something. Oh yeah, and then there was Lockhart. You know half the Slytherins are still convinced Lockhart is the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets?” 

Stunned, Severus tried to consider what the rash of Defence professors looked like from the students’ perspective. True, the administration hadn’t been exactly forthcoming with information on the exact nature of the incidents in question, but he hadn’t expected such wild rumours— Actually, now that he was thinking about it, he couldn’t believe the rumours weren’t wilder.

“So looking at the track record we’ve had for DADA professors, she’s got to be evil, right?” Draco seemed immensely satisfied with his analysis.

Severus wondered whether he should tell him that actually, two of those professors had been agents of the Dark Lord and one of them had just been grossly incompetent. “Lockhart was admitted to St Mungo’s for severe spell damage,” he pointed out instead, horrified yet fascinated. 

“Well, yeah. Is it any coincidence that a girl went missing, Potter rescued her, Lockhart got brain damaged, and the attacks stopped, all in one night?” Draco scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

“And you don’t think Lockhart was a victim?” 

“If the Heir of Slytherin were real, why would they go after Lockhart of all people?” Draco pointed out. “Besides, no one can actually be that incompetent.” 

Severus sighed. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, simply because he’d hated Lockhart maybe more than anyone, and if a generation of students grew up thinking Lockhart was secretly evil… he could live with that.

What was more concerning was how little Draco knew of the Dark Lord’s involvement with Hogwarts. Did Lucius tell him nothing? Was it for his own protection? Or did Lucius not think the boy was mature enough? 

Regardless of the reason, it no longer mattered. The days of Draco’s youthful ignorance were numbered. 

~*~

**September 19th, 1995**

Severus was coming to rely on Granger’s assistance. When he brewed alone now, he missed her presence. She was quick to anticipate what he would need next, keeping an eye not just on the next step, but three steps ahead so that she was making efficient use of her time. 

They always brewed in silence, something that Severus vastly preferred. He thought he’d become tired of her presence, curse or no, but the opposite had happened. Brewing by himself felt achingly lonely now, rather than the refuge from the world it’d once been. 

Brewing with her had become the highlights of his week, a moment of contentment amongst the mess that was his life. 

Which is why now, with her running late, he was becoming very concerned. 

He was just getting up to go look for her when he heard voices from the hallway outside his office. Silently, he flicked his wand, and the voices became audible through the door.

“-don’t understand why you can’t get the evening off!” whined the young Weasley that Miss Granger was unfortunately friends with. 

“Ron, we’ve already talked about this!” Granger huffed. Severus was thrilled to hear the annoyance in her voice.

“But it’s your birthday!” the boy said, and Severus could hear the pout in his voice. Disgusting. “You should be doing something fun!”

“Brewing is fun!” Granger said crossly. Severus tried desperately to suppress the pleasure he felt at that comment. “I actually like helping out, Ron, and why shouldn’t I spend my birthday doing something I enjoy instead of listening to you complain about it!” With that, Severus saw the door start to open, and he hastily sat back down and composed himself. The biggest difficulty was in keeping the smile off his face. He hadn’t expected he’d be so thrilled at hearing Granger defend him, but perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. 

He cancelled the spell with a surreptitious flick of his wand as she entered the room and angrily closed the door behind her.

“Is everything all right?” he asked mildly. Granger shot him a surprised look. Surprised that he would bother to ask, he supposed. 

“Oh, yes, sorry I’m late. I got held up,” she added with a grimace. She crossed over to the small cauldron he had set up and peered into it. “I don’t recognise this base,” she said in bewilderment. “What are we brewing today?”

“A potion of my own design,” Severus admitted, walking over to join her next to the cauldron. He was just close enough so that their sleeves brushed, a fact that Severus was suddenly acutely aware of. “Can you determine the key constituents of the base?” 

Granger’s eyes gleamed with the challenge. She picked up her wand and started casting, while Severus barely managed to keep the fondness he felt off his face. For a brief moment he wondered— would the curse have worked as strongly if he’d seen someone else first? What of his feelings were real, and what were artificial? The same part of him that longed to be near Granger was convinced that his feelings were real, only uncovered by the curse. But he couldn’t be sure, because he couldn’t remember what he’d felt like before. He had no basis of comparison. 

At the end of the lesson, Granger was cleaning up the brewing station with quick, efficient wand movements.

Severus looked at the potions in his desk, hesitating. After a moment, before he could stop himself, he snatched one out of the drawer.

Granger noticed immediately when he walked over to her, looking up at him curiously.

“Is something wrong, sir?” she said, wand slowing to a stop. 

“I believe presents are customary on one’s birthday,” he managed to get out, before shoving the vial into her hand. He couldn’t believe the sudden awkwardness he felt as the result of a single sentence. He wanted to die. 

“Sir?” she said in surprise, looking down at the label. Her eyes widened.

“Happy birthday,” he said, straining to keep his voice quiet. He felt idiotic, completely foolish. “I trust you will make good use of it.”

“I will, sir, thank you!” she said, beaming up at him. Just like that, his anxiety melted away, and he let himself smile back down at her.

In the back of his mind, however, he knew. He was well and truly fucked. 

~*~

**September 20th, 1995**

“I still can’t believe you bailed on us,” Ron said over breakfast.

Hermione rolled her eyes but otherwise ignored him. “So your new project’s going well?” she said to Fred instead. 

He nodded happily. “Padfoot’s been fantastic, really. He’s been working hard and we’ve made some really good progress. George and I are still mostly handling the prank stuff by ourselves, you know, but it’s nice to have help with the more serious stuff.” He sent Hermione a wink. “Especially from someone who has enough experience to know what kinds of things are actually useful. Like George and I had all sorts of ideas, but no clue which ones were practical and which weren’t, you know?”

“It was a brilliant idea, them working together,” Harry said happily. “I can tell from his letters that he’s doing loads better. He’s still feeling cooped up, but he’s handling it better now. Less restless, I think.”

“I’m really happy to hear that,” Hermione said, pleased with the praise. “Do you have anything exciting planned, then?” she asked Fred.

Fred shrugged, a coy smile on his face. “Maybe,” he admitted. “I’ll tell you about it later, once it’s a little more firm.” 

“So we’re not talking about Hermione being friends with Snape, then?” Ron said, as the three of them left Fred to head to class. 

“We’re not friends!” Hermione protested, face turning pink. “We’ve just been brewing potions.”

“I don’t know how you could stand spending time with such a nasty git,” Ron muttered. Harry rolled his eyes, and pointedly walked behind them so as to not get caught up in their argument. Which he was hearing for maybe the tenth time.

“He’s not nasty to me,” Hermione said firmly. “He’s actually been really nice!” 

“Or maybe you just think he’s being nice to you because he’s been so mean to you your brain blocked it out!” Ron said triumphantly.

Hermione stared at him, mouth agape. “You’re an idiot,” she finally said in frustration. “He’s genuinely been nice to me. He got me a birthday present!” 

“What?” Ron and Harry both said. Ron stopped short. “You’re kidding me, right?” he said.

“I’m not! It was very thoughtful,” Hermione said defensively. 

Ron stared at her for a moment, at a loss for words. “Was it nicer than mine?” he finally said, and Hermione rolled her eyes and walked away from him. 

“Wait! Does that mean yes?” Ron called after her, before turning to Harry. Who had also started heading towards class. “Not you too!” he cried, before sighing and following them. 

None of them noticed Draco Malfoy around the corner behind them, listening with wide eyes. 

~*~

**September 21st, 1995**

“Hermioneeeeee,” Ron whined, slouched in the comfy armchair in front of the fire. “You said you were almost done twenty minutes ago.” 

“This time I am almost done!” Hermione said cheerfully, putting the finishing touches on the letter to her parents. “They’re probably so bored in hiding. I just want them to know I’m safe and doing well!” She’d send it out with an owl later. 

Harry came down the stairs from his dorm. “The twins are ready!” he said excitedly. “They finally finished talking about their next project,” he added with an eye roll.

“Finally!” Ron said, sitting up in his chair. “I thought I was going to go mad waiting.”

“See?” Hermione said pointedly to Ron. “I was right on time.”

George finally came down, joined by Fred a moment later, who was carrying something small wrapped in a scarf.

“Where are we doing this?” Fred asked in a hushed voice. He looked around the common room pointedly, where a few people were relaxing. 

The five of them looked at each other contemplatively. 

“Anyone in the dorm?” Ron asked Harry.

Harry nodded. “Just Neville, though.” 

“Well, Neville won’t mind,” Hermione said. “Right?”

“Back upstairs, then,” George said with a sigh. 

Fred punched his arm. “Don’t complain, you need the exercise.”

“Are you saying I’m getting chubby?” George asked in mock horror, patting his stomach. 

“I’m saying you’re fat,” Fred said, and then sprinted up the stairs before George could grab him. George chased after him. 

“How do they have so much energy all the time,” Hermione muttered to herself.

Ron grinned. “Mum is always asking the same thing. I think mum drank too much coffee when she was pregnant.”

“I don’t think that’s how pregnancy works,” Harry said doubtfully, and Hermione just shook her head.

Harry and Ron’s dorm was empty except for a tussling Fred and George and a very concerned Neville.

“They just came in here and started fighting!” Neville exclaimed to the three of them, eyes wide.

“Yeah mate, they do that sometimes,” Ron said with a shrug.

“Sorry Neville,” Hermione said. “We’re going to chat with a friend and they just got too excited.” 

Neville looked between the three of them, who were casually staring back. He sighed. “I needed to go to the library anyway,” he mumbled to himself.

“Thanks Neville!” Harry beamed, and slapped Neville’s shoulder as he went by. “I’ll save you some breakfast tomorrow so you can sleep in, eh?” 

Neville smiled slightly. “All right, Harry, that sounds good,” he said, and left the room.

“Maybe we should make more of an effort to include him in things,” Hermione said, uncertain.

“Oh, he’s all right,” Ron said, with a wave of his hand. “That’s just Neville.”

“If you say so,” Hermione said, and went to sit on Harry’s bed. “Come on, you’ve got it then?” she addressed the twins.

The twins sprang up to standing, Fred still holding the small bundle. “Here we go!” he said, and pulled the scarf away with a flourish, revealing the mirror they’d been waiting for.

Harry grabbed it out of his hands and sat down on his bed next to Hermione.

“Hey!” Fred said, but sat down without further protest, followed by Ron and George.

“Sirius Black,” Harry intoned into the mirror. After a moment, Harry’s reflection was replaced by Sirius’ grinning face.

“Looks like everyone’s here!” Sirius said in excitement, looking over everyone.

Variations of “Hi Sirius!” were said by everyone on the bed.

“How are you doing?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Pretty good!” Sirius said. Hermione could see that he was telling the truth. The worry lines on his face had relaxed a little, and his smile was more genuine than it had been over the summer. “We’re making great progress, eh boys?” he said, winking at the twins.

“Yessir!” Fred and George said obediently, and then grinned at each other. 

“What are you working on?” Harry asked curiously. “Fred and George wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Sorry Harry, I’m sworn to secrecy,” Sirius said solemnly. “But you’ll find out soon enough! We’re almost done the testing phase,” he added with a cackle. 

“Anything I should be worried about?” Harry asked, but he was obviously excited.

Sirius laughed. “I still can’t tell you anything. But I promise that you’ll find out soon. Oh! That reminds me. Happy birthday Hermione!” 

Hermione startled. “How did you know it was my birthday?” she asked suspiciously, looking at the boys on the bed.

Harry grinned at her. “Sorry Hermione.”

“I’ve got a present for you!” Sirius continued. “Next time I see you, yeah?”

“You got me a present?” Hermione said, pleased. “Thank you!” 

“Just something the twins and I whipped up,” Sirius said casually.

Hermione’s smiled froze. “Oh,” she said nervously, looking back and forth between the twins and Sirius.

“Nothing bad, I promise!” Sirius laughed. “I know you’re a prefect.” 

“Thank you, Sirius!” Hermione said, with more trepidation than she had a moment ago.

“So, tell me about…” and the six of them descended into happy conversation.

~*~

**September 22nd, 1995**

Hermione dutifully stirred the potion she was working on. Professor Snape was grading papers at his desk, scowling down at them. She wondered if any student would be surprised to learn that Professor Snape hated grading essays as much as the students hated writing them.

But Hermione was feeling too cheerful to be content brewing in silence. “What are you grading?” she asked, unable to help herself.

Professor Snape’s quill stilled, and after a moment he looked up at her. He didn’t look angry, more… baffled. “First year essays,” he said after a moment. 

Hermione was thrilled that he’d answered her question. “That makes sense. You looked like they’d personally offended you.”

Professor Snape looked down at his papers, then back up at her, expression unreadable. “They did,” he finally said, and Hermione couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips.

For a moment, she thought she saw Professor Snape look pleased, but then the expression was gone. 

After a few minutes of them working in silence again, Hermione once more piped up “Will we be learning about counter-brewing this year?”

“That’s a NEWT-level topic,” Professor Snape responded without looking at her. “You’ll get to it next year.”

Hermione was flattered by the insinuation that she’d make it into his NEWT-level class. 

After another few minutes, she asked “Did you know—“

“Yes,” Professor Snape said, cutting her off. His quill danced as he wrote another undoubtedly scathing remark across the essay he was grading.

Hermione paused for a moment, taken aback. Then she continued anyway, although very different from how she intended to start: "Did you know the modern jackalope has over a hundred children every year?” 

Snape paused, still staring down at the essay. After a long, quiet moment, he finally raised his head, his face blank. "Yes," he said, and Hermione might have even believed him if not for the fact that she'd made it up.

“Actually, sorry, I meant puffskeins, not jackalopes,” Hermione corrected, unable to keep the satisfaction from her tone. “Completely different things!”

She half expected him to yell at her, but instead his lips quirked in something that was almost approaching a smile, and he said "Fine, what is it?" 

“Is it just me or are the Defence professors getting worse every year?” Hermione asked, feeling more bold than she had a moment ago.

Professor Snape sighed and put down his quill. “It’s not just you,” he admitted. “There is a rumour that the position is cursed, and given how long it’s been since we’ve had someone last more than a year, I would not be surprised.”

“Cursed?” Hermione asked curiously. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Finally something the great Hermione Granger does not know,” Professor Snape said, but it wasn’t rude like Hermione was used to hearing. It was almost… teasing. “Yes, usually curses are tied to something physical, but I suspect that this curse is within the Hogwarts wards themselves.”

“That’s incredible!” Hermione said, and Professor Snape raised an eyebrow at her. “I mean, it must have very difficult to pull off! And without anyone being able to find it.”

“Indeed,” Professor Snape agreed. “Many people no longer believe any such curse exists, after searching for years and being unable to find it. The Headmaster, of course, still believes.”

“Whoever cast it must be very powerful,” Hermione said, a touch fearfully. She could only think of one person who had the means and the motive.

“Likely so,” Professor Snape said, eyeing her thoughtfully. “It is poss-“

“Severus,” the portrait on the wall interrupted. “Albus needs to see you in his office immediately.”

“It cannot wait until I’m finished here?” Professor Snape asked, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

“What does immediately mean to you, then?” the portrait asked snidely.

Professor Snape rolled his eyes. Hermione was fascinated at the show of humanity from her normally distant professor. “Very well. Miss Granger, I’m afraid our time together has been cut short. I shall see you on Sunday for our next session.” 

“Yes, professor,” Hermione said obediently, and quickly packed up before following him out of the office. _Our time together_ , he’d said. Like it was something precious. 

Her heart skipped a beat. 

~*~

**September 23rd, 1995**

“You’re going to spend the weekend in the library?” Ron asked, aghast. They were at breakfast late Saturday morning. 

Hermione gave him an unimpressed look. “Does that surprise you?”

“No,” Ron laughed. “Not really.”

“And anyway, you should be studying too,” Hermione reminded him. 

Ron shook his head. “No point. We both know I’m going to fail anyway.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Harry said, joining them at the table. “Let’s go flying this afternoon!” 

“That sounds much better than studying,” Ron cheered. “I’ll borrow George’s broom. He still owes me.”

Hermione sighed. “Really though, you’ll study at some point, right? Only I made up study guides the other day, and I thought-“

“We promise,” Harry said, and even he sounded kind of sincere. 

“Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagoll said, coming over to where Hermione was sitting. She had a serious look on her face. “The Headmaster wishes to talk to you.”

“Me?” Hermione asked in surprise. Harry and Ron looked confused as well. 

“Yes. Right now, if you will,” Professor McGonagoll said.

“See you later,” Ron called after her as she left. 

Hermione tried to read Professor McGonagoll’s face as they walked, but she couldn’t tell anything. Was this about Order business? 

Professor Snape was in the office when they arrived. She immediately noticed him, leaning against the windowsill, looking worried. She felt a shiver of uncertainty in her stomach. Had she ever seen Professor Snape look worried before?

“Miss Granger,” Professor Dumbledore said. “Please sit.” 

Professor McGonagoll was still there, but she remained standing near the door. 

Hermione sat down obediently, smoothing her robes over her lap. 

“Miss Granger,” Professor Dumbledore said again, and then paused.

“Albus,” Professor Snape said warningly. “Be frank.” An unreadable look passed between the two of them.

“There was an attack on one of our safe houses,” Professor Dumbledore said. “Your parents have been killed.” 

Hermione stared down at the desk in front of her. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. “I don’t understand,” she said, not looking up. “That’s not possible.” She’d only just sent them a letter. 

“The attack occurred last night, while they were…” He kept talking, but Hermione couldn’t understand any of the words. Her world had shrunk, focused on the single point on the desk she was staring at. There was parchment, both larger sheets and scraps scattered around. There was an elegant quill, made out of a bright red feather. It was laying on the desk. Had he been writing when she came in? 

She tried to read the parchment upside down, but the writing was an old-fashioned cursive heavy with loops and flourishes. She thought it might be a letter of some sorts, since she could almost recognise the format of it. Who would he be writing to? Although really, there were so many options. Professor Dumbledore was a very important person, involved in all sorts of political positions. Maybe he was writing someone in the Ministry, or perhaps he was still involved in some sort of research. Hermione wondered what research adult wizards did. Certainly it was something she would be interested in pursuing as a career. She loved learning things and solving problems. Before she’d learned she was a witch, she’d wanted to be a scientist. 

“Miss Granger, did you hear me?” Professor Dumbledore’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“Sorry professor. Could you repeat the last part?” Hermione asked. Her voice was steady, perfectly polite. Why was she short of breath? Everything was fine.

“Certain arrangements will need to be made. Do you have any family who might assist you?” 

“No other family, just my parents,” Hermione said. Neither of her parents had any siblings. Her mother was estranged from her parents, to the point where Hermione didn’t even know their names, and her father’s parents had died long ago. It had always been just her and them. It’d always been that way.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to make the arrangements, although I imagine Professor McGonagoll or-“ He glanced over at where Professor Snape was standing. “Or Professor Snape would gladly assist you. Due to Professor Umbridge’s increased scrutiny on the comings and goings of the student body, I believe the best thing for you would be to stay at Grimmauld Place until your affairs are settled.” 

Hermione stared at him blankly. “I have a potions exam on Monday,” she said. “I have to study. I can’t leave.”

“You foolish girl, do you understand what’s happening?” Professor Snape said harshly. 

Hermione looked over at him, confused, and his face softened. “I don’t understand,” she said honestly.

“I’m sure Professor Snape will exempt you from the exam,” Professor Dumbledore said, giving Professor Snape a warning look. 

“Of course,” Professor Snape said. He still looked worried. Why was he worried? 

“Can I go back to my dorm?” Hermione asked. Everything would be okay. She had a plan. She would sort out this confusion.

“Miss Granger, your parents are dead. Do you understand?” Professor Snape asked again. He sounded upset. 

“Yes sir,” Hermione said politely. “I’d like to go back to my dorm now.” 

Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape exchanged looks. 

“I’ll take her back to collect her things,” Professor McGonagoll said. “And then I can see her to headquarters.” 

Professor Snape looked like he wanted to protest, but he stayed where he was. 

Professor McGonagoll took Hermione to the common room, but she didn’t come in. Hermione went to Harry’s dorm looking for the mirror. He’d been using it last night, she knew, to chat with Sirius. 

It was still on his bedside table. “Hello Neville,” Hermione said. “Sorry to bother you, I’m just grabbing something.” Everything would be fine. She felt sick to her stomach. Was she coming down with something? 

Neville waved her on, not even looking up from his textbook. 

Hermione took the mirror to the bathroom, where there was some privacy.

“Sirius Black,” she said firmly into the mirror. 

“I’m almost— Hermione?” Sirius asked curiously. “Is everything all right?” 

He didn’t seemed concerned about her, or worried like everyone else was. So it was probably safely to ask. “Hey Sirius, I was wondering if you knew the address where my parents are staying? I’m worried sending an owl might be unsafe, so I wanted to send them a letter by muggle post instead.” 

“Oh yeah, I think I have it somewhere. I’m surprised you don’t already have it.” 

“I never asked earlier so I wouldn’t be tempted to go see them,” Hermione said with a small laugh. The words came out automatically. Her expression shifted by itself, matching Sirius’ light tone. She was operating on autopilot, she knew. She was having trouble thinking. 

“Here we go.” He rattled off the address to her, and she wrote it down quickly. 

“Thanks Sirius, I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Okay,” Sirius said, amused.

Hermione shook the mirror to clear it, and set it back down on Harry’s bedside table. She left the dorm without another look back, and went to her own to collect her stuff.

She emptied out her book bag and packed a change of clothes and everything she needed for the homework she had due this week. Cleaning charms could take care of everything else. She would be back soon, she thought, but best to be careful. Surely this misunderstanding would get sorted out soon enough. She also packed her money pouch, both wizard and muggle. 

The tower was strangely silent as she walked back down to where Professor McGonagoll was waiting. She could see people talking to each other, their lips and hands moving, but she couldn’t hear anything they said.

“I’m ready,” she told the professor. And then they were in her office.

Professor McGonagoll’s office was chilly, a draft coming in from the open window.

“You’ll use my floo,” Professor McGonagoll said, giving Hermione a long look. “Hermione…” she said softly, and that was the first time Hermione had ever heard Professor McGonagoll use her first name. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m tired,” Hermione said honestly. Even though it wasn’t even noon yet, she felt physically exhausted. Harry had been telling her she needed to get more sleep. Maybe she should listen to him. Or probably she was coming down with something. Was it flu season yet? Why didn’t wizards have a magic cure for the common cold? You’d think with all of magic at their disposal they would’ve been able to figure it out. But no, the closest thing they had was Pepper-Up, which merely masked your symptoms. Perhaps she would be a healer, when she grew up. Her parents would like that. Her being a doctor was something they could tell their friends. 

Professor McGonagoll smiled sadly at her. “Of course you are,” she said. “You’ll be able to nap soon. I imagine your bedroom from the summer is still free.”

It was, Hermione knew. Since she’d been there so long, Sirius had let her clear out a room upstairs for her own use. She’d spent a few weeks cleaning, but when she was done it’d felt as cozy as her bedroom back home. She even had a bookshelf for all her books.

Someone knocked at Professor McGonagoll’s door. “You’ll be fine by yourself?” she stated more than asked, and Hermione nodded. 

Hermione was in a familiar kitchen. It was empty, not even any dishes left over from breakfast. Sirius didn’t really eat breakfast, as far as Hermione remembered. 

Sirius wasn’t waiting for her. He still didn’t know. 

Hermione turned around, and threw more floo powder into the fire. She would take care of this. She would clear up this confusion. 

“Diagon Alley,” she said firmly, and stepped through. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry about the delay. This chapter is a little shorter than usual, but I realized it was time to just get it out. This definitely isn't abandoned!

**September 23rd, 1995 (early afternoon)**

Hermione had always been good at focusing. When she was a girl, she’d get so absorbed in the books she read that she wouldn’t hear her mum calling for her, or wouldn’t hear the bell ring for lunch, or would almost miss her stop on the bus. Maybe that’s why she’d always had trouble making friends. The other girls would call to her and she’d ignore them, and they’d think she was doing it on purpose.

She wasn’t, though. She just found books so interesting. 

It hadn’t helped that she’d probably been the only kid who was actually friends with the teacher. And the librarian. And her parents, of course. Hermione had always felt more comfortable around adults than around children, even when she was a child. 

Her parents used to tell her she was too mature for her age, and the other children would catch up eventually. Hermione had half believed them, enough to keep her chin up through the years of loneliness. And anyway she had her parents. They’d kept her busy with trips to museums and historical sites, theater visits, and as many books as she’d wanted. She’d grown up healthy, happy, and loved.

Then she went to Hogwarts. And suddenly there’d been this gulf between them. They’d been hesitant to even allow her to go, so from her very first letter she’d done everything she could to show them what a great time she was having. She didn’t tell them that no one liked her, or that some of the kids ignored her because of her family. She didn’t tell them about the teachers who couldn’t (or wouldn’t) teach, about the constant feeling of not being good enough. From there her omissions only got more egregious, aided by the school’s reluctance to tell muggle parents anything, apparently. She never told them about the troll, about being petrified. By the end of her second year, her letters had gotten so infrequent that her absence went unremarked upon. 

The summers were better again. There were trips and activities, and lazy days spent reading on the beach. She didn’t talk to her parents as much as she used to, but the silences were comfortable. 

But she always kept one eye on the calendar, looking forward to when she’d be going back to Hogwarts. Back to her real life, as she thought of it.

When she told her parents they needed to go into hiding, they’d been surprised. But they hadn’t even asked her if she’d be going with them. Her mother had taken one, long look at her, filled with indecipherable pain, and they’d gone without protest. 

Hermione had been relieved. 

She was a bad daughter, and she knew it, but what could she do? They lived in different worlds. And now they were in an Order safe house, somewhere completely muggle where they could go undetected, and continue living their lives in peace. 

That was where Hermione was headed now, with a laser-focus. She didn’t think about what Professor Dumbledore had said, or the look on Professor Snape’s face. She didn’t think about making up classes or Sirius waiting at Grimmauld Place or having to make arrangements. 

She needed to get to the safe house. Then everything would be okay. She’d go to the safe house, and things would be fine.

She’d taken a train out to the city it was in, and then called a cab from there. She had the money, she wasn’t worried. She kept thinking about what her parents would say when she surprised them. They’d be so pleased to see her, she decided. They’d invite her in and show her around their new house, which they would’ve decorated just so. Her mum would make her tea, and ask her about her trip. Her dad would sit at the table with them, quiet but smiling. 

She’d apologize for the visit, since it would mean they’d have to move again, and they would sigh and fuss but they’d smile warmly at her and give her a big hug and tell her she was worth it. 

She didn’t think about the owl she’d sent. The one she’d sent without thinking, which knew her parents well enough to find them without an address by now. She didn’t think about what Professor Dumbledore had said when they first went into hiding, about how any owl post would draw a great big target on their house, and to only communicate using muggle mail. She didn’t think about how out of everything she could’ve forgotten, all the dates from history and magical plant properties from herbology, all of which she could bring to mind perfectly, she’d forgotten the one fact that was critical to keeping her parents safe. She’d gotten so used to not owling that she’d forgotten there was a reason for it this time. 

Hermione didn’t think about any of that as the cab pulled up to the house. It was smaller than the one they’d used to live in. She supposed they didn’t need the space anymore. Still, she could see her father’s influence on the garden, the carefully arranged flower beds and small patches of vegetables. 

She marched straight up to the front door, hands shaking, heart racing. She knocked briskly, and prepared herself to see her mother’s smiling face. She told herself she was nervous about how her parents would react. She didn’t acknowledge the fear, the cold dread that had encompassed her heart. She knocked on the door again after a long moment of no answer. 

The door opened. 

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. 

Bellatrix Lestrange smiled down at her. 

~*~

**September 23rd, 1995 (evening)**

“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Severus shouted at Minerva. 

“I mean exactly what I say,” Minerva said stiffly. “Black said she never arrived at Grimmauld Place.” 

“Never arrived? I thought you brought her through the floo!” Severus said. He wasn’t panicking. But it was closer than he would ever admit.

“She’s perfectly capable of flooing by herself,” Minerva answered, insulted by his insinuation that she’d been negligent. “I heard her articulate her destination quite clearly. She must have left immediately after.” She sighed, rubbing at her temple. “What a mess. Regardless, I’m sure she’s gone to the safe house, poor thing. Black said she asked for the address earlier today. We’ve had someone keeping an eye on it since the attack. They’ll send her right straight back to Grimmauld.” She shook her head sadly. “That poor, poor girl.”

“Someone’s still there?” Severus asked curiously. Albus hadn’t given him any details about the attack, only that Granger’s parents had been killed and the safe house compromised.

“To keep an eye out, yes. I sincerely doubt she’ll be returning, however. I believe her point’s been made.”

“Whose point?” Severus asked, a sudden chill going down his spine.

“Bellatrix Lestrange, of course,” Minerva said, wrinkling her nose. “That awful girl.” 

Severus stood so quickly he felt his head rush. “We need to go immediately,” he said harshly. 

“What?” Minerva asked, astonished.

“Bellatrix isn’t finished. Those murders weren’t to make a point. They were bait.”

~*~

**September 23rd, 1995 (evening)**

Hermione had been stupid. She was smart enough to know that. She was also smart enough to know that she was going to die here, staring at the lifeless bodies of her parents, and there was nothing she could do about it. Even as the sharp chill of dread trickled down her spine, as her bones ached with the pains of torture, part of her was viciously glad that she was here. Was this no more than she deserved? The logical consequences of the choices she’d made?

Bellatrix had taken her wand. Bellatrix had laughed at her fear, had laughed at her screams. A flick of her wand had all that had been required to wrap Hermione in heavy black chains, and she’d sat Hermione down in her parents’ sitting room, so different than the one she’d grown up in but achingly familiar in style. 

There was blood everywhere. Her parents were staring at her, mouths slightly parted in surprise. A look that would stay on their faces forever. Never again would Hermione see her mother smile at her, or her father’s grimace over having sprouts for dinner. She’d never see her mother wink at her over morning tea, or see her father’s eyes crinkle as he laughed at the telly in the evenings. 

There was an owl on the floor too. Hermione recognized it. Of course she did, she’d sent it off only a few days ago. A letter to her parents about how her birthday had gone, and how excited she was about being a prefect. The letter was gone. Had her parents read it? 

At the end of the letter, had she told her parents she loved them? She couldn’t remember now. Had she just ended the letter saying goodbye? Or with lots of love? Hugs and kisses? What had she said to them?

“Poor little girl,” Bellatrix called out from the kitchen, where she was raiding the cabinets. “Parents decided to leave you, hmm? Did they say it was safer without you? Or did you decide to leave them?” She cackled at the thought, making a dreadful racket as she pulled pots and pans out, leaving them strewn about the floor.

Hermione didn’t respond. She was staring at her mother, who was still wearing her favourite sweater. It was cozy and soft, but still thin enough to wear in the early fall. Perfect for those first chilly nights. 

“Maybe you thought they were boring?” Bellatrix said, the poison from her mouth wriggling through Hermione’s ears and into her brain, even as she tried not to listen. “They’re just muggles, after all. Nowhere near as interesting as magic!” 

What had she put in the letter? Had she told them she loved them? Did they die thinking she didn’t love them? 

“Maybe you don’t even mind that they’re gone, hmm? Have I done you a favour, little girl?” Bellatrix leaned against the doorway from the kitchen. She held an apple in her hand, that she was slowly peeling with one of the larger kitchen knives. 

Hermione remembered that knife. Bellatrix had used it to carve the word “mudblood” into her arm earlier that evening. How long had she been here? How many curses had she been under? She’d lost count so quickly. 

“No comments? Does that mean I’m right then?” Bellatrix asked, with a crazed grin.

Hermione didn’t say anything. Her throat was rubbed raw from screaming. She wasn’t sure she could make a sound even if she wanted to. She didn’t even know what sound she would make. She was tired. So, so tired. She wanted Bellatrix to kill her, instead of dragging it out and making her wait. 

She wanted to see her parents again, alive and happy and full of life. She’d never been religious, never believed in any sort of afterlife, but… there were ghosts, weren’t there? Didn’t that have to be proof? That some form of her parents still existed, if only she could find it, if only she could join them. 

“Where is he!” Bellatrix half muttered, half shouted to herself. She was looking impatiently through the window. “I thought he would’ve come already. Unless Draco was wrong.” She gave Hermione an appraising look. “Maybe I killed the wrong parents then? Ha!” She barked out a laugh, surprising Hermione in her momentary similarity to Sirius. “How would you feel, girlie, if I told you your parents died for nothing! Typical muggles, eh? Can’t even die properly.” 

Hermione didn’t answer. She didn’t care. No matter what Bellatrix said, Hermione knew her parents hadn’t died for nothing. They’d died for her stupidity. 

Bellatrix was pacing back and forth, clearly impatient. Suddenly, her wand started vibrating, and a crazed grin erupted on her face. “There we go,” she cooed softly. “Maybe Draco isn’t as worthless as I thought. Do you like that, mudblood?” she asked Hermione. “He came for you after all. True love,” she said happily, a soft smile on her face that transformed her into someone else. But then the smile disappeared, and there was a wicked smirk in its place. “He’ll finally pay,” she muttered to herself gleefully. “And no one will be able to blame me. After all, he was trying to rescue a mudblood! It’s only fitting that I should try to stop him. Treacherous, treacherous little Slytherin, even for us Slytherins, yes?” she asked Hermione, and Hermione didn’t think Bellatrix saw her at all. She had a far-off look in her eyes. 

Hermione stared at her parents. More people would die tonight. She desperately, desperately wanted to be the first. 

~*~

**September 23rd, 1995 (evening)**

Severus Snape was a fool. He knew this. Albus knew this. And now Minerva knew this as well. Because while she’d gone off to fetch Albus, Severus had slipped out of the castle and gone to the safe house. 

He couldn’t stop himself, was the problem. He felt like an outsider in his own head, watching someone else control his actions. He screamed at himself to stop, to wait, but then he thought of her face, and his body took off into a run. 

Bellatrix would be waiting, he knew. And she wouldn’t hold back. She’d set this up to trap him, so of course the smart thing to do would be to wait, and plan carefully his moves, and then go in with a whole group of the Gryffindor cannon-fodder that called themselves Order members. 

Yet here he was, silently creeping up a muggle street, with only his wand and his wits. And it seemed his wits were in short supply.

Severus cast carefully as he went,looking for alarms or traps. The street itself was littered with them, but he went carefully through backyards, keeping to the shadows so even the faint shimmer of the disillusionment charm wouldn’t be seen. 

There was an alarm around the small garden of the safe house. It was well hidden, so that you needed to be almost on top of it before you could detect it. But Severus had been going very slowly, some part of him apparently still sane, and he’d carefully avoided detecting it. 

What he hadn’t detected was the second alarm charm, carefully layered under the first. 

Severus immediately moved into the shadow of the house, away from where he’d triggered the alarm. He waited for Bellatrix to emerge, but she didn’t. The small but respectable house took on a threatening air as Severus realised that likely Bellatrix had turned the whole house into a death trap for him. And now she knew he was here. 

His best bet was the basement. The entrances were carefully hidden, as the basement was intended to function as hideaway for emergency supplies. It was possible Bellatrix didn’t know about it, and thus hadn’t cursed it. It was his only chance for safe entry into the house. 

He found the door relatively easily, since he’d helped hide it in the first place, and slipped carefully into the darkness, making sure the door was sealed shut behind him.

The basement was pitch black, so Severus cast the tiniest light he could on the ceiling. Immediately several tall, dark shapes came into view — the outlines of the boxes that were stored down here. 

It was practically a maze navigating through everything, and Severus was almost where he thought the exit was when he heard the sound of something rustling behind him.

Immediately he stilled. He double-checked that his disillusionment charm was still active, then carefully sidled behind the nearest stack of boxes. 

He waited silently for something to happen, but he saw nothing. He’d just given up and started towards the door again when he heard the sound of rustling again, coming from the opposite side of the basement.

Severus weighed his options, and found all of them lacking. Already filled with regret at his decision, he made his way as quickly as possible for the door up from the basement. After all, he was fairly sure that if Bellatrix had left a trap down here, it would’ve triggered immediately. Although he was not as sure as he liked to be.

He made it up the stairs without incident, and cast a listening charm on the door. He couldn’t hear anything. Bellatrix had likely noticed her alarm trigger. With luck, she’d be occupied preparing something nasty at the back door and wouldn’t notice him enter the kitchen. But when had he ever been lucky?

Normally he would’ve waited longer at the door listening, but he heard another rustle from down the basement steps, closer this time. With a silent prayer to no one in particular, he opened the door as little as possible and slipped through. 

Someone must’ve been listening, for the kitchen was empty. There were bloody footsteps on the ground, about the size of an adult female, and he could see through to the sitting room which had blood spatters on the walls. A chill went down his spine. He closed the basement door silently with a hasty spell, and noted that the charms on it to keep it hidden were still in place. Perhaps Bellatrix hadn’t found the basement then. Begging the question of what had been moving around down there.

Severus crept carefully towards the sitting room, avoiding the alarm spells and the gruesome traps he detected and keeping an eye and ear out for any sign of movement. Thankfully the more powerful the trap, the more easy it was to detect… And Bellatrix had always gone in for the flashy. He stopped short when he finally saw Granger, sitting on the sofa, tied up in chains. 

She looked… empty. Her face was devoid of all emotion, and her eyes were completely blank. She stared, fixated, at two corpses on the ground. Granger’s parents, they must’ve been. The woman had the same curly brown hair and tan skin, made a sickly colour with her death.

Severus watched her, unable to help himself. After all, he’d done this to her. It was his fault she looked so small and fragile, with a bruise just starting to spread across her cheek and blood streaking down from her nose. 

“The guest of honour!” Bellatrix said from behind him, startling him so badly he almost dropped his wand. An embarrassingly bad start to what was sure to be a brutal fight. “Severus, oh Severus, won’t you let me see your pretty face?”

Severus stayed silent, not dropping the disillusionment. As long as he was hidden, she couldn’t be sure it was him. Which meant none of his signature spells, either. His attention was on Bellatrix now, but out of the corner of his eye he could see that Granger was looking at them.

Bellatrix cast silently at him and he deflected it without a thought. She cackled with pleasure. “So quick,” she said gleefully. “But not quick enough, I think.” They traded lethal spells back and forth, neither of them gaining any sort of advantage. This sort of dueling, slow and thoughtful, was more reminiscent of chess than a brawl. 

“Severus, dear Severus,” Bellatrix crooned, as the pace of her casting sped up. Severus was no slouch when it came to dueling, but needing to stay hidden put him at a disadvantage. Bellatrix was constantly casting _finite_ at him, which took much less effort to cast but required the same amount of shielding and dodging from him. “Have you come to rescue your love?” she asked wickedly. 

Severus didn’t look over at Granger, even though he desperately wanted to. He needed to stay focused and not let her distract him.

“Perhaps she doesn’t know that you love her?” Bellatrix asked. Her wand flicked through the air, sending beams of light shooting at him. “Perhaps you haven’t told her yet of my present. Of course, my curse doesn’t create love from nowhere,” she said slyly, barely breaking a sweat from their duel. “You must’ve already loved her in order for the curse to work. All it does is bring the emotions to the surface, after all.” 

Severus decided then and there that she was lying. It was just the sort of thing she would do, and even if she weren’t lying… Well, what sort of difference would it make? But his moment of distraction cost him, and he found himself slowly getting backed into a corner of the room, near the sofa. 

Bellatrix advanced on him, her casting speeding up now that she sensed the end was near. 

Just as Severus was starting to think it was time to give up on staying hidden, Bellatrix’s curse went wide as her wand started vibrating mid-cast. “You’ve brought friends!” she said, delighted.

He… hadn’t. And there was no way Albus had already sent people over. Severus knew their response time wasn’t that good.

There was a sound from the kitchen. The sound of a basement door slamming open.

Bellatrix stepped back towards the kitchen, wand already up and casting when what looked like a lion burst out of the kitchen and landed on Bellatrix, knocking her to the ground. She shrieked in surprise, and Severus immediately turned to Granger, casting quickly to remove the chains. He pulled the girl up by the hand, and immediately she started clinging to him. 

Granger looked up at his invisible form. “Professor?” she asked faintly. Severus could feel her heart hammering wildly in her chest, could feel the warm press of her against his side. 

“Stay calm,” he whispered to her. She kept staring at him, somehow meeting his eyes even through the disillusionment. 

“That was quite the surprise!” Bellatrix said, brushing herself off as she stood up, the corpse of the animal cooling on the ground. “Where did you get a baby nundu of all things?”

Severus didn’t answer her, instead gave the nundu a critical look. It was larger than a full-grown lion. He’d never seen a nundu in person, but he was suddenly immensely glad it was dead.

“I suppose you didn’t know that I happen to have a special way with animals,” Bellatrx said, twirling her wand idly. She didn’t seem to be rushing to get back into the duel. Perhaps he’d tired her out after all. “I got an outstanding on my Care of Magical Creatures NEWT. You wouldn’t have known that, of course.”

Actually he had known that. When she’d first joined right out of school she never shut up about her NEWT scores. They’d been quite good, actually. 

In one quick motion, Bellatrix summoned Granger away from him. He immediately went to grab her, and Bellatrix took the opportunity to petrify him where he stood, arm still out.

The disillusionment fell, but Bellatrix was rather occupied torturing Granger right in front of him. She cast _crucio_ after _crucio_ as he desperately worked to dispel the petrification. It was strong, despite her distraction, and even though he was holding his wand it still took him far too long to break her hold

Granger was still at Bellatrix’s feet. There was a trickle of blood running from her mouth down the side of her face, and Bellatrix seemed to take a great glee in kicking the girl while she was down. 

Severus felt a rage build inside him. He screamed incoherently and flung out his wand to cast at her— what exactly, he couldn’t say— but he never got the chance.

Just when Severus thought Bellatrix had brought the girl down for good, just when he thought Granger was dead— Granger shot to her feet, punched Bellatrix in her face, and snatched the wand right out of her hand. All it took was a single meaningful look over at him before they were running, racing out of the house and away from Bellatrix, although not fast enough for Severus to avoid a painful curse that grazed his side.

Granger grabbed desperately at Severus’ hand, and for a moment his heart fluttered, but then he knew what she meant. They were outside the anti-apparition wards. With a twist and a gut-wrenching crack, they were gone.

Severus was not a foolish man. He knew it was possible to love someone without liking them. How could he not, when his own mother proved it so? She’d loved him, of that he was sure. She’d taken care of him when he needed it, and sacrificed her own well-being to keep his away from the worst of his father’s anger. 

But he knew she hadn’t liked him, and he hadn’t blamed her. Without him, she would’ve been able to leave his father when she was still young and fresh. Her parents would have overlooked her youthful indiscretions and welcomed her back into their home. But they never would’ve accepted him, their bastard halfblood grandson. And his mother had loved him too much to leave him with his father, even if it would’ve saved herself.

She’d loved him, but she’d also resented him, and he’d known that. 

He’d thought it would be the same way with Granger. Deep, inexplainable love… but love without context, without respect or affection. The way one loved when one didn’t have any other choice. But now, as he stood outside the gates of Hogwarts, side aching with burning pain, still holding onto her hand as they greedily sucked in great breaths of cool, safe air… he knew he’d been wrong.

“That was a nice punch,” he said quietly, as if ashamed to even admit it. And Hermione looked steadily back at him, a trace of pride in her eyes despite her obvious terror and exhaustion, and he knew he had a much bigger problem than just love. 

~*~

**September 23rd, 1995 (late evening)**

“Tell me again about the nundu,” Albus said, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him. 

“There’s nothing else to tell,” Severus said wearily, leaning against the wall and trying to ignore the pain in his side. “There was a nundu in the basement.” Granger was sitting in an armchair by the fire, drinking a cup of tea. She wasn’t paying any attention to their conversation, merely staring into the flames. 

“And it was not Bellatrix who put it there?” Albus asked curiously. 

“I doubt it. Bellatrix was the only person it attacked, and then she killed it. Who had access to the basement?”

“Mundungus recently moved some items in there,” Albus said with a grimace. 

Severus rolled his eyes. “And I suppose he had access to the basement without any sort of supervision, correct?”

Albus sighed. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“Where the devil did Dung get a nundu?” Severus said in amazement, mostly to himself. 

Albus shook his head. “I do not know, but I intend to find out. In the meantime…” he glanced over at Granger by the fire. “I think it would be best if both of you stayed with Sirius for a while.”

Severus winced. “Surely it would be suspicious for me to disappear—“

“More suspicious than you teaching with a curse wound?” Albus asked, pointedly looking at Severus’ side. 

“I can ignore it,” Severus said through gritted teeth, but he didn’t even believe his own words. He could tell there was dark magic in the wound, which would make it resistant to healing via normal means. He would be in some pain for a while, and the treatment would be difficult. 

“I think it best if you disappear, especially given that Bellatrix has an ear inside the castle. Your injury will only make you more vulnerable to further attacks.”

“And if I get summoned?” Severus protested. “What will I do then? My injury will be most suspicious.”

Albus shook his head with a small smile. “You will not get summoned.”

Severus paused, nonplussed. “How are you so confident?” he asked suspiciously.

“Tom is currently out of the country,” Albus said, and did Severus detect a hint of smugness in his tone? “And will not be returning for at least a few weeks.”

Severus waited for him to elaborate, but Albus remained infuriatingly silent. Severus decided it wasn’t worth giving Albus the satisfaction of asking. It was unlikely that Albus would tell him the truth regardless. 

Albus looked disappointed by his lack of questioning, but continued on. “I believe it would also be beneficial for you to take some time to focus on that… other project we discussed,” he said discreetly, with a glance over at where Granger was still staring into the fire.

Severus nodded. Trust Albus to have ulterior motives behind his ulterior motives. “Very well,” he said obligingly. Even with his cursed wound it would likely be more enjoyable than teaching. As long as he could avoid Black, this might even be tolerable. He carefully avoided looking over at Granger. Apparently the curse outweighed even his hatred of Black, if he was actually looking forward to their living arrangements. What powerful magic indeed. 

As if she’d read his thoughts, Granger spoke: “What was Lestrange talking about?” Her voice was hoarse, and she didn’t look over at them as she spoke. “The… curse.” 

Albus looked over at Severus. Severus stared back, trying to keep his expression even. Finally, Severus relented.

“Bellatrix cursed me with a rather nasty Black family specialty,” he said. 

Granger nodded. She looked up at him for a moment, before her gaze quickly skittered away again. Her eyes were unreadable. Without magic, at least. “I see,” she said, and Severus feared she would press further, but she stayed blessedly, worryingly, silent. 

“Miss Granger…” Albus started, and then hesitated. “I do not blame you for your actions,” he finally settled on.

Granger shook her head slightly. “Thank you, sir,” she said, her voice stiff. Severus longed to know what was going through her head. Did she blame him for Bellatrix’s actions? He blamed himself, he thought. Was she angry at him? 

Well, he realized with a sinking horror. It looked like he would have plenty of opportunity to find out.

~*~

Severus’ rooms were nicer than he’d expected. Black had grumbled and shouted about letting him stay there, but Albus had told him what happened with quiet whispers, and Black had looked over at Severus with a curiosity that lacked his usual anger. Perhaps Black’s hatred of him was surpassed by his hatred of his cousin. Family ties did run deep, after all.

Besides, Albus had made it clear that there wasn’t much of a choice, and Black had been pleased enough about having Granger in the house that he seemed willing to overlook Severus’ presence as well. Especially given that Severus had been given a room on the first floor, far away from the main portion of the house. Black and Granger had rooms on the top floor, and with luck he’d be able to avoid them. He tried not to examine his feelings towards that prospect too closely. 

There was a knock on his door. Three careful taps. 

Severus opened the door, somehow not surprised to see Miss Granger standing there, a determined look on her face. He felt his heart sink. 

“I need your help,” she said, staring him straight in the eye. The shadows under her eyes were a deep purple, and she still had blood smeared down the side of her face. 

“With what?” he asked, because what else could he do? Even just the sight of her made him feel indescribably happy and unbearably guilty all at once. 

“I’m going to make her pay for what she did,” Granger said, her jaw tight. There was a strange look in her eye, as if she were focusing somewhere past him. “Help me stop her. For what she did to me and for… for what she did to you.” 

Severus leaned against the door, shoulders slumped forward. Bellatrix Lestrange was a vicious enemy to have, which is why he’d always been so careful to never provoke her direct anger. And now Miss Granger was going to lead them both to their deaths, and he would follow her without hesitation. “Of course,” he murmured, and she let herself into his room. Minerva would throw a fit if she knew. Minerva would throw a fit if she knew a lot of things. He closed the door behind her.

“Great,” Granger said, and Severus gaped at the bizarre sight of a Gryffindor muggleborn holding up an antique locket with the Slytherin crest. “We start with this.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay everyone. I think there'll probably be about two or three more chapters.

**September 27th, 1995**

The walls of the house whispered to her. 

“Hermione,” she could hear faintly. “Hermiiiiioooooneeeeee…” 

She never responded, of course, because she wasn’t crazy. Only crazy people talked to walls. 

Only crazy people saw someone else in the mirror. A tall, handsome boy, in his early twenties, with neat black hair and a charming smile. No, she definitely did not see him in the mirror. She never looked in the mirror.

“Your aura has gotten dark,” Professor Snape told her, looking across the room at her. He was sitting at his desk, but twisted away from it, staring at where she sat on his bed, knees drawn to her chest. 

“It’s the locket,” she said. The locket she was wearing, which pulsed in time with her heart. The locket she was intimately aware of, connected now as they were. 

“Obviously,” he responded, but there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm. He looked at her as if she were a strange, exotic specimen. He paused for a moment. “It’s dark even when you’re not wearing it.”

“The power stays with me when I take it off,” Hermione admitted. “I can feel it.”

“Are you… well?” Professor Snape asked delicately. 

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t really feel anything,” she answered honestly. 

Professor Snape didn’t look reassured by this. “Your health, then,” he said. “Since…” Since the ritual. Since she’d torn out part of herself in exchange for-

“It’s fine,” she said. 

“I need more detail than that,” Professor Snape said, unamused. 

“I’ve been having chills, I wake up every night at exactly midnight, I have violent nightmares every night, sometimes I hear whispers, and this morning I threw up black ichor,” Hermione listed quickly, trying not to dwell on any particular symptom. She knew what it meant. She just needed time. 

“Ah,” Professor Snape said, leaning back in his chair. He looked at her over steepled fingers. “I did not expect that. Your symptoms are far more severe than I would have expected. It’s possible the artifact is more powerful than I imagined. I would advise that you stop wearing it immediately, and disregard this entire plan of action.” He said the words clinically, as if he had no personal investment in the situation. 

Hermione stared at him, feeling a flush develop on her cheeks. Out of anger or embarrassment, she didn’t know. “You said you’d help me,” she said. 

“I am trying to help you,” he said, frustration creeping into his tone. “This is far worse than dark magic poisoning, I believe your life may be in serious danger.” Was that a note of hysteria Hermione heard in his tone? 

“It’s so much power,” Hermione said quietly. “At first I thought it’d never work but- with this much power, I might have a chance.” 

“There are other ways,” Professor Snape said. “The Order will be looking for her. Let them handle it.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, no one else. I won’t let anyone else die because of her.” She hated Bellatrix Lestrange with every beat of her heart, with every breath she took, with every tortured minute of sleep she struggled through. There was only one person she hated more. “I can do this, I know I can.”

“You can do nothing if you are dead,” Professor Snape said harshly.

Hermione winced. “It won’t kill me,” she said weakly. She didn’t actually know that for sure. “I just need time,” she added. “Just enough time to get Lestrange, and then I’ll do whatever purging ritual or whatever I need to do. It’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine.” Was she trying to convince him or herself?

Professor Snape shook his head. “You foolish girl, you don’t understand. You don’t have time. This locket- whatever it is- will kill you. Purging it- it’s likely already too late.” 

“It doesn’t want to kill me,” Hermione said automatically, the words coming out of her from somewhere deep inside. “It wants something else.” She frowned, unsure of how she knew that.

Professor Snape drew in a sharp breath. “Has it spoken to you?” he asked softly.

She shook her head hesitantly. “No, I mean- well, it hasn’t said anything. I don’t know how I know, I just do.”

“It’s deeper than I thought,” Professor Snape murmured to himself. “Perhaps it’s time to contact Albus-“

“No!” Hermione cried, standing up off the bed before she could help herself. “Absolutely not.” The cold rush of fear she felt when she thought of telling Albus Dumbledore what she’d done was unbearable. 

“Miss Granger, you must listen to me-“

“No!” Hermione shouted, louder this time. “This is my life, and I’ll do what I need to! With or without your help!” With that, she flung the door open and stormed out of his room, her heart beating wildly as she slammed the door behind her.

“Hermione?” came a voice from down the hall.

Hermione winced as panic twisted her stomach into a tight knot. “Oh, Sirius,” she said evenly, hoping that she looked more calm than she felt.

“What were you doing in Snivellus’ room?” Sirius asked, staring at her with wide eyes. 

“Hermione was what?” And of course, Sirius was holding a mirror in his hands. 

“I had a potions question,” Hermione said slowly. Had he heard her shouting? Surely Professor Snape silenced his room? 

Sirius’ eyes didn’t leave her face, even as the people in the mirror kept asking questions. “A private question?” he asked, and Hermione wondered at the look she saw on his face. The rules were different here than they would be at Hogwarts, they both knew that. But even that didn’t make up for being in her professor’s bedroom. 

“A very quick question,” she said. 

Sirius nodded. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said, without accusation. His tone was matter-of-fact, but the words felt like daggers.

He knew she was lying. Did he know why? “What’s up?” she asked. 

“I’ve got Harry and Ron, they want to talk to you,” Sirius said. He held out the mirror, but made no other move towards her.

Hermione didn’t look back at the door behind her. “Great,” she said, although she was unable to muster even a fake cheer. She walked over and took the mirror from him. “Hello,” she said politely, even though talking was the last thing she wanted to do. 

Sirius took her elbow gingerly and led her to the kitchen. “I’ll make some tea,” he muttered, largely to himself.

“Hermione!” Harry said, a grin on his face. “What are you doing at Padfoot’s? When are you coming back?” 

“And what were you doing in Snape’s room?” Ron added in disgust.

Hermione looked over at Sirius, who shook his head slightly. She couldn’t believe no one had told them. For a second, she felt a flash of anger. How dare they leave this for her, to have to say the words with her own mouth. But the anger was replaced by cool numbness, and she realized the gift she’d been given. She didn’t have to tell them. She could keep her pain private. “Just some f-family stuff,” she managed, barely getting the word out. “I’m going to be here a bit, I don’t know how long. Probably not too long though.”

Sirius set a mug of steaming hot tea in front of her, and sat on the other side of the table. He gave her a measured look. “You can stay as long as you need,” he said, quietly enough that the mirror wouldn’t pick it up. 

“Is everything okay?” Harry asked in concern. 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Hermione lied. The locket hummed where it sat around her neck. “Don’t you two have class soon?” Even here, with everything going on, she knew their class schedule like she knew her own name. 

In the mirror, Ron looked at his watch and cursed. “You’re right,” he said. “Harry, we should go.”

“You’ll be okay?” Harry asked again. 

“It’s all fine,” Hermione promised. “It’ll all be fine.” This time she wasn’t lying. 

Suddenly she was looking at herself in the mirror, for the first time in days. It was her, thank god, and she hadn’t even realized how scared she’d been that it wouldn’t be. She looked horrible. No wonder Harry was so worried.

Wordlessly, she handed the mirror back to Sirius. 

“I meant it,” he said. “You can stay as long as you like.”

“That desperate for company?” Hermione tried for a joking tone, but it came out flat. She took a sip of her tea. It was terrible. 

Sirius fiddled with his mug. “I hated my parents,” he said, not looking at her. “When I got out of Azkaban and found out they were dead, I was fucking happy. They were my blood relatives, but I hated them. I hate most of them, actually, especially Bell— fuck.” He winced. “I’m cocking this all up. I’m not good at this sort of thing.” 

“That’s okay,” Hermione said quietly. “I think I get what you’re saying.”

“No, you don’t,” Sirius said, surprising her with the passion in his voice. He leaned forward, looking at her intently. “Look, Hermione, Charlus and Dorea practically raised me, okay? They were there for me when I needed them, over and over. When they died, James and I—“ he choked off. It took him a moment before he could continue. “James and I went out and fucked up every Death Eater we could find, and we got ourselves hurt in the process.”

Hermione stayed silent. She was painfully aware of the locket, warm against her chest. She already knew she was going to get hurt. She didn’t care.

“And then after that Halloween, after I went to Azkaban— Merlin, I don’t know. Hermione, what I’m trying to say is that I get what you’re going through, okay? I know you want to hurt her more than anything.”

“You can’t stop me,” Hermione said, the words coming out before she even knew what she was saying. 

“I’m not trying to stop you,” Sirius said. “Fuck, Hermione, let me help you. I know you’re doing something with Snivellus, and I want to help. Whatever it is.”

Hermione shook her head. “You don’t understand, it’s—“

“Dangerous? Stupid?” Sirius shook his head wryly. “I guarantee it’s nothing worse than I’ve done before.”

“Dark,” Hermione finished quietly. 

Sirius leaned back in his chair, shoulders slumping. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck, Hermione, that’s…” 

Hermione carefully ignored the hot prickles of shame she felt. “What else am I supposed to do?” she said. “Lestrange is so much stronger than me in every way. This is the only way I can even possibly begin to challenge her.”

“She knows way more about dark magic than you, no matter how much studying you’ve been doing,” Sirius said, but he didn’t sound accusatory. 

“I know,” Hermione said, a new determination filling her. “But she won’t expect me to know any. She’ll underestimate me, and maybe I’ll— maybe I’ll have a chance.” 

“Are you sure about this?” Sirius asked. “Once you go down this road, you can never come back.” 

Hermione knew this to be true in a way she hadn’t only a week ago. She’d already made a deal with the devil, and she could feel the consequences of that decision in her very soul. “I’m sure,” she said. “And anyway, it’s already too late.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. Her eyes were burning. 

Sirius reached out and grabbed her hand. “Okay,” he said simply. “Okay, that’s fine.”

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. “Do you mean it?” she asked, realizing suddenly how vulnerable she was in this moment. How much she wanted Sirius to be on her side, despite what she’d done. 

“Yeah, I do,” he told her. “Now we just need to make sure your sacrifice was worth it.”

~*~

Down the hallway, Severus leaned against the wall, head in his hands as he listened to their conversation. Anger coursed through him at the thought of Black offering Granger comfort that he could not. He closed his eyes and pictured slamming Black’s face repeatedly into the wall, a trick he used to calm himself when his emotions got the better of him. It was less effective this time than it usually was. He couldn’t get rid the image of Granger storming out of his room, magic practically flying off of her. 

He took a breath and went through the process of clearing his mind. Carefully, breath by breath, he calmed himself to the point where he could actually think again. 

“Master Snape is spying,” came a reedy, unwelcome voice.

Severus’ eyes flew open, and he stared at the house elf in front of him. “Do you have a problem with that?” he challenged the house elf.

“Kreacher is not caring,” said the house elf in a sly tone. “But perhaps filthy master is.” 

Severus paused. “I know you hate Black more than you hate me,” he said to the elf. “Just as I know your bindings prevent you from taking any… _overt_ actions against him. Perhaps we could come to an arrangement of sorts.”

Kreacher licked his lips. “Kreacher thinks is possible,” he said. Severus could see the hunger in his eyes. 

Severus had an unfortunately long history with Kreacher the house elf. He’d visited Regulus during the summers when they’d been at Hogwarts, and the elf had taken an instant dislike to him. Regulus said the elf was like that with everyone, but personally Severus thought the house elf had been… jealous, of all things. Jealous of his relationship with Regulus. 

A noise came from the kitchen. Chairs being pushed back. “We will discuss this more,” Severus promised the elf, and stalked off in the direction of the library. He would continue his research, his primary reason for being in this house. If he could rid himself of the curse, he could leave Granger to her efforts without any remorse, and rid himself of the pain of watching her self destruct. 

And yet, even the thought of leaving her to herself gave him a headache, stress creating painful tension at his temples. The thought of Black comforting her-

“Oh,” came a soft noise of surprise. 

Severus turned around to see Granger hovering nervously at the entrance to the library. Black wasn’t with her. 

“I thought you were still in your room,” she said, embarrassment keeping her gaze low. 

Severus considered her. The thought of Black- “Come here,” he said harshly, and retreated behind a shelf, where they wouldn’t be seen from the door.

She followed obediently, but he could see her hesitation. She leaned against one of the shelves that had been emptied over the summer, crossing her arms defensively. She still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“You told Black,” Severus said.

She nodded, still staring somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. Was it shame that kept her gaze low? Or anger? 

“He can’t help you,” Severus told her. “He has some knowledge of the dark arts merely through his upbringing, that is true, but he is missing much of the subtleties, of the context required to navigate safely. If you follow his lead, you will die.” Was his voice as steady as he hoped? Did she know the thought of her death gave him nightmares? 

“What else-“ she started angrily, finally looking at his face. Her eyes were bright, but she looked… tired.

“I will help you,” he cut her off. “Black already knows, and if you don’t allow him to assist you he’ll run straight to Albus. But you must run everything he tells you by me before you attempt anything. Do you understand?”

“And you won’t tell Professor Dumbledore?” she asked suspiciously. 

He desperately wanted her to trust him. He told himself that he merely needed her trust in order to best help her, but truthfully, that moment after he’d rescued her (and admittedly, after she’d rescued him as well), when she’d grabbed his hand without hesitation, when she’d looked up and him and given him her full attention… He wanted everything she was willing to give him, anything he could get from her. “I won’t,” he promised. “I won’t tell anyone you do not wish.”

Granger nodded, a steely determination in her eyes now. “Good,” she said. “But there’s more.”

“More?” Severus asked without thinking, and he knew anxiety was clear in his voice.

“I need you to be okay working with Sirius.” 

Severus felt his anger rising. “As I said, Black knows nothing that can help you. He will lead you to your death.” Was his voice steady? Had he betrayed how much he feared for her? Perhaps she already knew.

Granger shook her head. “It’s not that. I need something from him, I need-“ she cut herself off with a wince. Even from here he could sense the spike of dark magic. 

“Need what?” Severus asked, baffled by this. Then a dawning horror came over him and he pretended not to see the way she stroked the locket around her neck. Was the locket… sentient? Could it be controlling her? What had he done, helping her do that ritual?

“There’s an artifact, and only Sirius has access to it,” Granger said, obviously picking her words carefully. “So I need his help getting it. And I need your help with the dark arts stuff… Please. You don’t even have to talk to him.”

Severus’ thoughts were racing. If the locket was directing her, it seemed that it was the sudden reason for her interest in this artifact. And unfortunately, that meant he likely wouldn’t be able to convince her she didn’t need it. Just how much influence did the locket have over her? Had she been lost completely? 

He nodded slowly, and risked a quick glimpse through her eyes and into her mind. Her thoughts seemed genuine, and he didn’t detect anything foreign, except- there. When she thought of the locket, there was some sort of mental link between them. It didn’t seem she was aware of it. He hastily retreated. “I will still help you,” he told her, noting her genuine relief. “I can see that it is foolish to expect you to forget this path altogether, so I will do what I can to help you along the way.” And if that help required him forcefully removing the locket from her, then that’s what he would do. 

“Okay,” Granger said. “Okay. Let’s talk.” 

~*~

“Have you ever experienced something so tragic, so profound, that it becomes the defining core of who you are?” Granger asked, in a soft whisper. She was sitting on his bed again, an obscene sight. He couldn’t stop looking at her.

Severus didn’t answer, his mind immediately conjuring up faces he’d tried so hard to forget.

“That’s what it feels like,” she continued. “Every moment I experience is coloured by the pain of loss. I look ahead to the rest of my life, and everything I’d once dreamed of is gone. Who cares about the Ministry, or about house-elves? Why bother when life itself is meaningless? We exist in a world that doesn’t care about us. And why should it? We are tiny, stupid, little things. We play at political games like children on a playground. There is an entire universe around us, and we are one minuscule insignificant speck. The universe doesn’t even know we’re here. We’re all mad creatures, screaming into the void.”

There was silence. Granger stared at him, wild eyes and clenched fists. Did she know how beautiful she looked?

“That’s a rather depressing viewpoint,” Severus managed, although he found that at his core, he understood what she was saying. “But if all this is truly as inconsequential as you say, why seek vengeance? Why not simply… disappear?” 

Granger stared at him, mouth agape. “You mean kill myself?” she asked. That’s not what he meant, but it didn’t surprise him that she went there. He’d thought of it as well, after. Almost constantly. 

“Not necessarily. Why bother? Why not simply live out your life in quiet solitude?” 

Granger clutched at her chest. “It hurts,” she said, in an instant her voice gone from a woman’s to a girl’s. “Please. I can’t bear it. I can’t-“ She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her head in them. She made no sounds, but her shoulders trembled. 

Severus weighed his options and considered killing himself. The problem was not that he didn’t want to comfort her. The problem was that he wanted to go over to her and hold her so badly that he no longer trusted his judgement. How was he to determine the proper course of action when there was one he desired to the point of self delusion? 

W _e are one minuscule insignificant speck,_ her words of a moment ago rung in his ear. To her, they held a depth and meaning that was incomprehensible to anyone over the age of seventeen. To him, they were a reminder of the uncaring and unfair nature of the universe around them. Fuck it, who cared about impropriety? The girl was likely to get them both killed in her mad quest for revenge anyway. Why not offer her what comfort he could in the meantime? 

He still felt like a lech as he moved to sit next to her on the bed, and carefully put his arm around her. He pulled her tight to him to stop her from shaking. 

“The pain of loss never leaves us,” he told her, his mind flashing through memories. His mother. Regulus. Lily. The people he’d killed under service of the Dark Lord. The people he’d killed under service of Albus. The student who’d been entrusted to his care, whom he’d failed when he missed the signs of drug abuse. “You will feel it always, and yes, it will define you. But it will not be the only thing that will define you. Your actions will define you. How you choose to live your life in response to this tragedy will define you. Future loss will define you as well, and believe me, there will be more loss. But you feel their loss so deeply because of the impact they had on your life, and that can never be taken from you. Do you understand? You will always have their memory, and the rest of your life is free to be lived however you wish. This choice that you make, that is what will define you. As will the rest of the choices you make, for the rest of your life.” 

At first he didn’t think his words got through to her, but slowly, hesitantly, she unfolded herself. He was still holding her, but she didn’t push him off.

“Okay,” she said, and her voice was sad but strong and really, what choice did she have? “Let’s talk to Sirius. I need to get in Lestrange’s vault.” 

~*~

“Hermione, this is a crazy plan,” Sirius said, but Hermione thought that he sounded more admiring than critical. 

“For once, Black and I are in agreement,” Professor Snape added, and Sirius gaped at him.

Hermione sighed. “I know, it’s ridiculous, but we can’t exactly walk into the vault disguised as Lestrange, can we? The goblins probably see that all the time. So we have to do this within their laws.” 

“Black is a wanted criminal,” Professor Snape pointed out. Sirius seemed proud of this, once more causing Hermione to think that maybe Professor Snape was right about leaving Sirius out of it. He hadn’t taken anything today very… well, seriously. 

“We’d have a bit of time before the Aurors showed up. More if the plan actually works.” 

“All you need to do is talk to the goblins and dissolve Lestrange’s marriage. That shouldn’t take long, should it? And then since the artifact is in her personal vault, as the head of the family, you should be able to access it.” 

“Wait, why would I have access again?” Sirius asked, looking up from the Daily Prophet’s daily word jumble. 

“Since your burnt-out husk of a brain seems incapable of absorbing even the smallest amount of information, let me explain it again,” Professor Snape said through gritted teeth. “Once Bellatrix is no longer married, you become her Head of House. Since she is a criminal, you have the right to reclaim her vault. Once you reclaim it, it becomes yours and you have full rights to it, even though you are not able to visit it. Then you can grant access to Miss Granger and me, and we will be able to visit it and retrieve the artifact.” 

“Why can I do all that if I’m a criminal too?” Sirius asked, looking suspiciously at Professor Snape.

Professor Snape’s hands twitched as if he were restraining himself from reaching across the table and strangling Sirius. “Since you were never found guilty at trial, you are still technically the Head of the family, with all the powers that implies.”

“But I can’t visit my vault,” Sirius said skeptically.

“Because you are a fugitive,” Professor Snape answered through gritted teeth.

“Even though I never received a trial,” Sirius said.

“The Ministry can declare anyone a fugitive regardless of whether or not they have received a trial. The Dark Lord, for example, has fugitive status even though he has never been caught, and thus never received a trial.”

Hermione thought Professor Snape was holding himself together very well, especially considering the way his black eyes glittered dangerously and he looked as if he were trying to wandlessly set Sirius on fire.

“Makes perfect sense to me,” Sirius said, as if Professor Snape were the one not understanding. Hermione quickly reached out to grab Professor Snape’s sleeve to stop him from drawing his wand. “So I just need to get the goblins to listen to me.”

Hermione ignored the way Professor Snape was looking at her, like he was in physical pain, and Sirius’ ominously curious expression. “They have a treaty with the Ministry,” She explained, reaching over to flip through one of the books in front of her by habit. She didn’t think Sirius actually cared enough to see the reference, but she felt strangely on edge. “So they’re required to report all sightings to the Ministry. But there’s no requirements as to when they report. And they don’t have to give any details about what you were doing.” 

“So they won’t report me then,” Sirius said happily.

“Well, it’s not quite that simple,” Hermione hedged, glancing over at Professor Snape. “There is a bounty on your head, and if they catch you and turn you in, they’ll make that money. You probably still wouldn’t get a trial, since there’s a Kiss on Sight order, which means that your assets wouldn’t be frozen and Gringotts would still profit from your accounts with them. So there’s really no reason for them not to turn you in, unless…”

“Unless I give them one,” Sirius finished for her. “Right. I always hated those greedy bastards.”

“Don’t be foolish, Black. Their greed makes them worthy allies, for we know exactly what their motivations are and how to work with them,” Professor Snape said snidely. Considering the rant he’d gone on earlier about goblins, Hermione suspected he was merely taking this stance to antagonize Sirius.

It was working. “Oh, you would think that, wouldn’t you, Sni-“

“Sirius!” Hermione interrupted, before wands were drawn. “Would you stop? I really, really need you to be able to work together,” she said. “Remember, you hate Bellatrix more, right?”

Sirius looked over at Professor Snape consideringly, so Hermione reached across the table and punched him in the arm. “Ow, Hermione,” Sirius whined. “Fine, yes, I hate Bellatrix more.”

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, she’s family,” Sirius explained with suspicious cheer. “No offense, but family always comes first. That’s practically the Black motto.”

“Always pure?” Professor Snape asked.

“Pfft. Everyone knows that’s a lie. My Great-Aunt Cassie is half-veela. We think that’s where Cissy’s hair comes from. And of course, everyone knows about Great-Great-Great-Uncle Vilfred’s affair with his house-elf. That’s why my family started cutting off their heads instead of giving them clothes. They’re part of the family, see?”

Hermione stared at him in horror. Professor Snape abruptly stood up and walked out of the room.

“It’s true!” Sirius called after him. “Technically Kreacher is my cousin!” He turned to Hermione. “Okay, it’s only sort of true. My family was cutting off their heads long before the elves made it into the family officially.” 

“Oh my god, Sirius, that’s horrifying,” Hermione said. “That’s…” 

“Apparently it was consensual, does that help?” Sirius said with a wicked smirk. “They had probably the healthiest relationship anyone in my family has ever had.”

Hermione felt like she was going to be sick. “But they’re… so small…” she said weakly.

Sirius completely missed her point. “Well, I think the house-elf curse won out over any genetics. That’s why they don’t look more human.” 

“Hang on, curse?” Hermione asked in surprise, gratefully latching on a change in subject.

“Sure, the curse that turned them into house-elves.”

“What were they before?” she asked curiously. She’d done research on house-elves before, of course, but she’d never been able to find anything of their origins. 

“Regular elves, I think?” Sirius suggested, with a frown. “I don’t actually know much about it. 

“Where did you learn this, then?” Hermione pressed. 

Sirius shrugged. “Around, or wherever. You pick things up from rumors on the street. I wouldn’t put much stock into it, I’ve also heard that Dumbledore was gay for Grindelwald. I mean, people say all kinds of things.”

“Oh, that’s… interesting…” Hermione said politely, trying not to think of her old professor in any sort of romantic relationship. “But anyway, do you have anything you think you can bribe them with?” 

“The house-elves?” Sirius asked doubtfully. “Maybe I could drop-trou…” 

“No!” Hermione said quickly. “No, obviously I was talking about the goblins!” 

Sirius smiled at her winningly. “Why didn’t you just say so, Hermione? I have a couple of family heirlooms that are supposedly goblin-made. Although… once we have Bella’s vault, we’ll have all sorts of treasures we can bargain with.”

“You know what’s in there?” Hermione asked in surprise. 

“Not exactly, but I’m sure she’s got some great stuff. And worst comes to worst, I’ll just keep offering them gold until they cave. It’s not like I’ll get a chance to use it again.”

“Unless your name is cleared,” Hermione pointed out. “Then you’d need it.”

Sirius snorted. “Hermione, really, don’t worry about it. Between my family’s ridiculouspiles of gold, and whatever Bella has, I’ll be set for life even after a hefty bribe.” 

“Alright, if you’re sure,” Hermione said uncertainly. “If you’re wrong about this, they’ll probably turn you in immediately.” 

Sirius’ eyes glittered with excitement. “I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said, leaning back in his chair. 

Hermione didn’t think he was taking this very seriously. He acted like it was all a lark, but did he realize he could actually die? He had the riskiest part of this plan, by far. But then again, did she really care? If he wanted to risk his life, it didn’t matter to her, as long as he succeeded. And if he failed, she’d kill him her— No, of course she wouldn’t. Hermione liked Sirius. And she loved Harry, and Harry loved Sirius, and Hermione would do everything she could to stop Harry from experiencing— 

“-rmione?” Sirius’ voice was concerned.

“Yes, I’m listening,” Hermione responded automatically, still feeling a little disoriented. 

“I said your name multiple times, are you alright?” 

“Oh, yes, I’m fine,” Hermione said, not meeting his eyes. “We’ll go later this afternoon, okay? In and out, quick as we can.” 

“Sure, yeah,” Sirius said. “If you’re up for it.” His excitement had dampened with his worry, but now it was starting to come back again.

“Yeah, of course,” Hermione said automatically. 

Sirius grinned at her. “Perfect.” 

~*~

Hermione hadn’t been present for Sirius’ portion of the plan, but she could only assume it was completely successful because a goblin had seen her and Professor Snape down to Lestrange’s vault and let them in without a word. 

“Which item are you after?” the goblin finally spoke, as they stared around the room in wonder. There was heaps of gold, of course, but also a surprising amount of jewelry and books. 

This had all been Lestrange’s, Hermione thought in a daze. And now it wasn’t. She’d taken away all of her wealth, all of her prized family heirlooms. She wanted to burn it all to the ground, incinerate it into— there. 

“That cup,” she said, pointing high on a shelf. 

The goblin started over to it obligingly. 

“Wait!” Hermione called after him. The room reeked of dark magic. “It’s all cursed,” she said. “Give me a second.” 

She ignored Professor Snape’s surprised stare as she waved her wand across the room. The motions felt familiar to her, even though she’d never performed them before. The words flowed easily from her tongue, even though she’d never said them. She felt the dark power inside of her rise up at her command, almost too easily. Like it knew what she wanted without her having to tell it. 

“It’s clean now,” Hermione said, lowering her wand. 

“Miss Granger…” Professor Snape said, and for the first time Hermione thought he looked— scared? Not of her, surely? 

“I thank you,” the goblin said, the first polite words he’d said to her all evening. “You’ve saved us some work.” He shouted some commands at the goblins waiting outside, and they strode into the room and started carrying things out. 

“All of it?” Hermione asked in surprise. 

“The vault’s contents, minus that one item. Mister Black was very persuasive,” the goblin said, baring his teeth. “We came to a mutually beneficial arrangement.” 

Hermione wondered at what else Sirius had thrown into the deal. How dare he use her plan for his own personal gain. Only… what did she care? Why shouldn’t he get something out of it too?

“It’s time to leave,” Professor Snape hissed at her. 

She was holding the cup. When had she gotten it? It felt warm and right in her hands, as if it’d been made especially for her. “Yes,” she said, and followed him out of the vault. She stashed the cup in her cloak, and obligingly followed Professor Snape into the cart. 

They met up with Sirius in a small room that Gringotts allowed for Apparition, and with a gut-wrenching pop, they returned to the manor, Hermione obligingly holding Professor Snape’s arm.

“Did you get it?” Sirius asked excitedly.

“Yes,” Hermione said, touching the inside of her cloak again. 

“It went so well!” Sirius exclaimed giddily. “I can’t believe it worked! The goblins seemed thrilled to get ahold of Bella’s stuff, she must have had some great things in there. They agreed to all my demands in less than ten rounds of negotiation.”

Professor Snape nodded slowly. “Indeed, they must have been very eager if they capitulated so quickly,” he said, but he didn’t seem to think it was a good thing. 

“I even got them to agree to a few other things too,” Sirius said, pleased. “Which means I’ll now have access to my money again. Although they’re charging me twice the usual fee,” he said, with a roll of his eyes. 

“And you don’t find it strange that they let you off so easily?” Professor Snape asked skeptically. 

“Well… when you put it like that, yeah, I guess it’s a little strange,” Sirius looked pained to be agreeing with anything Professor Snape said. “But I didn’t have anything in Bella’s vault before, so now that I’ve lost it, it doesn’t really matter to me, does it?” 

Professor Snape snorted. “Of course you would say that,” he murmured. “No regard whatsoever for the consequences of your actions.”

“Hey, I helped Hermione, didn’t I? That was the whole point of this thing,” Sirius snapped back. “And what did you do again? Just stand around looking menacing? How did that help exactly?”

“I’m tired,” Hermione said, grabbing Professor Snape’s arm just as he reached for his wand. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

“It’s four in the afternoon,” Professor Snape said in surprise, distracted from his rage. 

“That spell wiped me out,” Hermione said, half telling the truth. “I’ll take a nap and be down for dinner later.”

“I’ll send Kreacher out for something,” Sirius said happily. “Now that I have money again.” 

“Black, you imbecile, you’re in hiding and you’re sending—“

Hermione retreated up the stairs, away from the fighting. She let herself into her room, still decorated with all the silly things she’d put up over the summer, and sat down on her bed. Gingerly, she pulled the cup from her cloak.

“Hello,” she whispered to it, cradling it in her hands. “What do I do with you?” She waited a moment, as if the cup would answer her, then felt foolish. “Of course, the ritual,” she murmured. But she didn’t have the strength to do the ritual again right now. She set the cup down beside her pillow and stood, stretching, and removed her cloak.

She froze when she caught sight of a now-familiar face in the mirror. 

Tall and handsome, black hair curled slightly around his face. Steely blue eyes staring straight at her, a slight smirk on his lips.

“You can’t hurt me,” Hermione said boldly, at the man in the mirror. “You’re just in my head.”

“But Hermione,” the man said back, and Hermione dropped her cloak in surprise. “You of all people should know: in your head is where I can do the most damage of all.” 

 


End file.
